


A Life Less Ordinary

by GutterBall



Series: The Kaiju Underground [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, M/M, almost everyone lives, flagrant disregard for science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 57,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long story short, Raleigh takes Chuck hostage with a candybar, and then a gritty (slashy) reboot of the movie kind of happens. This is what might have happened if the boys had met without knowing who the other was first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synekdokee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/gifts), [nightbloomings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/gifts).



> I haven't written fanfiction in 6 or 7 years. I've never written live-action fanfic because reasons. That said, I read [this prompt](http://synekdokee.tumblr.com/post/84749705273/chaleigh-fic-prompt-thing), and the plot bunny attacked. Ten days (I started on Cinco de Mayo and finished on Godzilla Day) and darn near a whole novel later... I made a thing for you. Enjoy?
> 
> And please forgive me. It's way longer than I had any intention of going.

This was not Chuck Hansen's best day ever. Between most of his gear being lost somewhere in transit from Hong Kong and him and his father being unwillingly rerouted to Alaska, of all godforsaken places, his normally prickly temper had long since edged past volatile. In fact, he was dismally aware that he was one problem short of a full-blown meltdown.

Until yesterday, he and Herc had been same shit, different day, running black ops in Hong Kong for the covert arm of the PPDC. As far as Chuck knew, there were only three jaeger cells like theirs left in the world, but all three were best of the best.

The Kaidanovskys were living legends and had been on the front lines since the start. Because they were so imposing -- Aleksis Kaidanovsky was roughly the size of a mountain, so "covert" was a relative term where he was concerned -- they were perhaps the best option for a public face in the continual, if silent, war against the ever-growing Kaiju Underground. The Wei brothers were whispered about in smoke-filled back rooms from Kowloon Bay to San Francisco, but the trio was so secretive that news outlets couldn't even agree how many of them there were.

And the Hansens, of course. Though Chuck and Herc couldn't carry on a ten-minute conversation together without someone bleeding, they had somehow racked up more Kaiju takedowns than any other crew in the Corps. They were shit at being father and son, but put them on a mission trailing those human trafficking monsters through the civilized world's filthy underbelly, and they were unstoppable.

Same shit, different day.

Until yesterday, when Marshal Pentecost had ordered them all to the Icebox to announce that he was retiring due to advancing illness and that Herc was being promoted -- although Chuck thought a more apt term was "pitchforked" -- into the big chair, leaving Chuck without a partner while the entire world seemed headed for some crucial turning point that everyone could feel but no one wanted to talk about.

Gritting his teeth, he decided he'd better calm the hell down before he ended up in a wreck. He wasn't the most patient driver at the best of times, and it was only a matter of time before some asshole cut him off and caused an international incident that would result in a write-up and, far worse, the heavy sigh and headshake from Herc that made him feel like a fucking five-year-old that had kicked a dog. But if he had any hope of getting through the confab Herc had set up with the rest of the crew in the morning, he needed some goddamn Tim Tams tonight.

Of course, since he was in fucking Alaska, he'd probably have to settle for plain old chocolate.

He pulled in at the first convenience store he saw, then sat gripping the steering wheel for a few moments, taking deep breaths to calm down before facing people he wasn't allowed to shoot or maim. When he felt a little less explosive, he climbed out of the shitty old Jeep he'd insisted on because Humvees weren't any better in snow than anything else and headed for the brightly lit interior. The frigid wind bit at his exposed face, and he grunted irritably, speeding his steps and then cursing when his feet slid and he whacked his elbow on the forepanel of a Peterbilt to avoid falling on his ass.

Mercifully enough, the store was damn near empty, and he made his way to the sweets aisle without having to interact with any civilians. Because he'd been on the job too long to be completely oblivious no matter how bad his mood, he took quick but careful note of the exits, the convex mirrors in the upper corners both hiding security cameras and exposing the entirety of the store's interior to the clerk up front, and the three other potential threats besides himself. The clerk was a non-issue -- a yawning, pimple-faced teen with a thick textbook open on the counter before him. A tired-looking woman with a toddler on her hip stood before the lone dairy case, digging through the milk jugs and apparently looking for the one gallon that wouldn't go bad until next year.

The last one, though....

Chuck's eyes narrowed, even as he positioned himself before the rack of chocolates and cookies and other sweet sundries. The last customer bore watching. Tall, dark blonde hair, wide at the shoulder and narrow at the hip even under the layers required by the blistering cold outside, the bloke stood like he could hold up in a fight. The even, all-American facial features seemed straight and unscarred, which could mean one of two things: either the bloke had never been in a fight or he'd never lost one. Or Chuck was just too far way to see minor flaws.

But the guy seemed edgy, overly alert, which didn't bode well. He kept shooting glances at the woman, even as he reached out and plucked a magazine off a rack near the clerk's counter.

Or maybe Chuck was being paranoid. It was an easy thing to be in his line of work. Maybe Mr. All-America was just giving the youngish mother a once-over, even with a kid on her hip. And maybe he was perusing magazines in a convenience store because he had nothing better to do. This was fucking Alaska, after all.

Trying to rid himself of his own edginess, Chuck eyed the pitiful selection and debated between a bag of Kit Kats or a whole damn box of Hershey bars. He noticed without seeming to that the lady with the kid finally chose some milk and headed toward the front, where said kid immediately started whinging for candy, setting Chuck's teeth on edge. The clerk rang her up without either smiling or making eye contact, then slumped back down over his textbook as the bell over the door dinged to announce the woman's exit.

Down to two.

For some reason, Chuck decided to linger a while longer. The blonde seppo seemed engrossed with his magazine, but Chuck couldn't help but notice the sense of readiness in that solid frame, the occasional oh-so-casual glances at one of the mirrors in the back corner. The bloke was up to something.

Unfortunately, just as Chuck made up his mind that games were afoot, Captain America put the magazine back on the rack and asked the clerk for the key to the bathroom because his ride seemed to be taking longer than expected. Oddly disappointed, Chuck grunted and went back to vainly wishing he was anywhere that had decent sweets. Or that his gear -- which, yes, always included at least one spare pack of emergency Tim Tams -- hadn't been shunted God only knew where. Eventually, he settled on a bag of peanut butter cups and a Toblerone because, dammit, this was already a stressful trip and he could by-God binge-eat pure sugar if he damn well wanted.

Arranging his expression into a not-scowl, he made his way to the counter, finagling his wallet out of his back pocket as he went. At least Herc had made sure he had American currency before all but kicking him out of the Shatterdome with a warning to be in a better mood when he came back.

"That be all for ya?" the clerk asked, not taking his eyes off the book on the counter.

Chuck debated, then shrugged. "Pack of Marlboro Reds." He didn't smoke often, but he could definitely use the nicotine now.

The kid flicked a bleary gaze up at him. "ID?"

"For fuck's sake."

He flipped through his wallet, then dug out his military ID and wondered why this drongo was carding a twenty-one year old who looked at least twenty-five, if not older. Holding his temper with difficulty, he even helpfully pointed out the date of birth when it was clear the kid had no idea what he was looking at. Finally, the little seppo turned and snagged a pack from the rack behind him, then turned back and froze, eyes going wide, jaw dropping.

For a second, Chuck wondered if he was showing more irritation than he thought. Then, something hard and blunt pressed into his right kidney through his coat and a thick forearm locked around his throat.

"Okay, this is how it's gonna go."

Un. Fucking. Believable.

Chuck gritted his teeth and tensed to break loose, but Captain America -- who else could it be? -- tightened his grip enough to threaten air flow, jabbing what could only be a gun a little harder into his back.

"Don't move, pretty boy. No one needs to get hurt. Kid?"

The clerk jerked his hands up, his pimples glaring an infected-looking red on his ghastly pale face.

"Empty the register into the bag, then open the safe and empty it, too."

The kid opened his mouth.

"Don't. I know you know the combination. Don't fuck with me."

The gaping mouth snapped shut, and the kid jerked into blundering motion, yanking one of the plastic carry-handle bags off the rack and jabbing at the register until the drawer popped open. Unfortunately, the kid's frantic movements only drew attention to the line of blank, dark monitors mounted under that side of the counter. They should be showing varying views of the store, but they weren't. The fucking cameras weren't even on. _Fuck_.

Seething, Chuck swallowed against the increasingly uncomfortable pressure on his throat and grunted. "You are making the fucking worst mistake of your life, mate."

The gun jabbed him again, but Chuck refused to acknowledge it. Sure, his personal was back at the Shatterdome, but it wouldn't take a second to take this wanker's own gun and shove the barrel up his All-American nose. Unfortunately, he could tell by both the grip at his neck and the bloke's stance and solidity that Captain America wasn't unskilled.  This fucker had definitely been in a fight, and if he didn't have scars, it was probably because he hadn't lost.

And while Chuck wasn't afraid of a good fight, he didn't relish the idea of dying slowly and in screaming agony from being shot in the fucking kidney. Furious but momentarily helpless, he thrummed with tension as the clerk moved to the safe, punched the combination in wrong twice, then finally got it right and started sweeping money into the bag.

"Doin' great, kid. Move it along and no one gets hurt."

And Chuck could not stop his mouth. "Except you when I fucking hunt you down."

That got a soft laugh, a huff of warm air against his ear. "God, you're mouthy. Can you shut up for two minutes, and we can go our separate ways?"

A caustic laugh strained at his throat. "You don't know who you're fucking with, Cap. Of all the goddamn people to take hostage--"

The kid, clearly not in a mood to appreciate a good threat-rant, interrupted by thumping the bag of money on the counter and backing away, crying a little but trying to choke it back. The gun jabbed Chuck's kidney again, and he reluctantly swallowed the rest of his speech. Yes, he was a hothead. No, he didn't want to die before making this fucker eat every last one of the greenbacks in that bag.

"Grab it."

"Fuck you."

Another jab, though the calmly amused voice didn't change its tone. "Grab your stuff, too. It's on the house tonight. Right, kid?"

Hands up, the poor whacker nodded wildly, a few tears spilling over at the jerky movement.

"C'mon, pretty boy. It's time we bid a fond farewell."

Goaded almost to the point where it might be worth his kidney just to get in a few good hits, Chuck snatched the bag from the counter and swiped his goddamn sugar rush in on top, though he'd never wanted anything less than he wanted chocolate right now.

"Good man. Now, easy does it--"

A cop car pulled into the lot next to the Peterbilt semi Chuck had elbowed a lifetime ago. The solid body at his back stiffened, the thick forearm clenching enough that Chuck started to get a little woozy from air loss and blood restriction.

"Kid, you didn't--"

The kid threw his hands up higher. "I swear to God I didn't!"

Despite the sick pounding in his ears from the too-tight grip, Chuck clearly heard his captor's teeth grit together. This was going south and fast.

Sure enough, Captain America grunted a soft "Fuck!" and shoved them both toward the door. This... couldn't possibly end well.

"Stay down, kid. Whatever you do, stay away from the glass."

Who the hell _was_ this asshole?

The frigid wind cut into his face the second his captor kicked the door open, but for once, Chuck didn't internally bitch at the discomfort. He had more important things on his mind, like not getting shot by either the whacker at his back or the cop that looked up and instantly reached for his service piece.

"Stop."

He had to give it to ol' Cap. The fucker might be a shit-for-brains, but he could put steel in his voice when he wanted to. The cop froze with his hand on his gun, the other hand already at the walkie on his chest.

"Don't do it."

The cop stared, clearly a donut-eating near-retiree who may not have so much as drawn his gun outside the target range in his entire, miserable career. Chuck read the story of this poor sack's entire life in the wide, terrified eyes and the quiver of the pot belly lapping over his belt. This wasn't help. This was a disaster in the making.

"Keys."

It took him a second to realize Captain America was talking to him. "The fuck?"

"Get out your car keys."

He hesitated, but a fresh jab at his kidney convinced him to cooperate before the situation escalated even further. Gritting his teeth against a stream of obscenities, he dug in his fatigue pants' right hip pocket.

"Freeze!" Though the cop's voice was high and panicked, the old fuck managed to yank his piece and level it in a relatively competent teacup grip. "Don't move!"

And now Chuck was staring at the unwinking eye of a gun pointed at his face while another gun dug into his kidney from behind.

Incredulous, he almost laughed. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

"I said freeze!"

And just like that, Chuck had no doubt that he was getting shot tonight. It was only a matter of time.

Then, a low, almost silent whisper at his ear. "Keys. Be ready."

He wanted to jerk away from that intimate voice, but damn it all, between the cop just itching to shoot someone, _anyone_ , and the seemingly unflappable Captain America at his back -- a thief, yes, but one who had told the clerk inside to stay down in an effort to keep the kid as safe as possible -- Chuck couldn't help but lean toward ol' Cap.

He closed his fingers around the keys still in his pocket and tensed, feeling the solid body at his back tense, as well. It was now or never.

Chuck pulled the keys from his pocket. The cop shouted and fired. Captain America flexed and twisted, turning them away from the gun, then grunted and shoved Chuck away toward the Jeep. Another shot went wild, pinging off the Peterbilt's grill. Chuck pelted toward his ride, his feet churning and slipping through the slushy snow but miraculously not dumping him on his ass. If he fell now, he would very likely die in this godforsaken parking lot of a godforsaken convenience store in godforsaken Alaska.

He deliberately skid around the front of the Jeep, grabbing the grill's guard bar to whiplash himself around to the driver's side, where he jammed the key into the lock and twisted almost hard enough to break the metal. Captain America cleared the Peterbilt, his face pale and set, unafraid but strangely....

Shaking off a potentially deadly moment's pause, Chuck threw open the door and jumped in, slinging the bag into the passenger floorboard without even thinking about the movement. Another shot pinged off the Jeep's rollbar, and ol' Cap shot the gap between the Peterbilt and the Jeep as sure-footed as if he was on dry pavement. The seppo was in full stride, and, before Chuck could even begin to second-guess himself, he reached over, popped the lock, and threw open the passenger door, then keyed the engine and threw it into reverse. Cap shot by the now-open door as if he hadn't for one second expected it to be open for him, and Chuck relished the look of wide-eyed shock as the bloke tried to stop and turn around without busting his ass on the ice.

Another shot, and Chuck actually reached over to snag a handful of coat and forcibly yank his own captor into the Jeep, then gunned the engine and shot out of the parking lot in reverse, the passenger door still flapping open. Captain America lay on his back in the floorboard, one foot dangling out the door and one foot up over the headrest in a desperate attempt to hold on.

"Fucking shut the door, you fucking fuckwit!"

He didn't dare look as his captor manhandled himself upright and into the seat, closing the door with a pained grunt.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how many ways I'm gonna kill you for what you just did?" Almost growling with pent-up adrenaline, he yanked the emergency brake and cranked the wheel to spin them around, then worked the Jeep up through the gears until the snow-covered trees whipped past them with dangerous speed. "Do you have any fucking clue who you just took hostage, Cap?"

"Look, I'm sorry--"

Chuck snarled. "Not as sorry as you're goddamn gonna be when I'm through with you!"

"That's not how it was supposed to go, dammit--"

"I should fucking hope not! You damn near got me shot, you--"

"No one was supposed to get hurt!"

He shot the shit-for-brains an incredulous glare. "Are you fucking kidding? You shove a gun into my kidney and tell me no one's supposed to get hurt? How fucking mental are you, mate?"

Ol' Cap looked a little green around the gills, but Chuck couldn't care less. The wanker sat there in the passenger seat, right hand white-knuckling the oh-shit handle on the Jeep's doorframe, teeth gritted together. "If you'd stop yelling at me for two seconds, I can explain--"

"You're lucky I'm not killing you myself right this fucking second!"

"I said I'm sorry, dammit! I was gonna let you go outside the store, but that goddamn cop showed up--"

"Like I believe a single fucking word you say!"

"Left up here."

Without thinking, Chuck took his foot off the gas just enough to not slide off the road on the turn, then punched it again. "I swear by all that is fucking holy--"

"God, can you just shut up for two seconds?"

"Fuck you!"

"Right ahead."

Cursing more fluently, Chuck made the turn, then shot the seppo another glare. Ol' Cap wasn't turning green. Cap was _pale_. In fact, the fucker looked about two steps shy of passing out.

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Besides your bitching and a gunshot wound? Not much."

Chuck's foot came off the gas pedal, his eyes wide as he stared at his captor, oblivious to the shitty road conditions as he relived the hectic moments after the cop had pulled his gun. Cap had twisted them away from the gunshot... and _grunted_.

This fucking septic had taken a bullet. For Chuck. For a fucking _hostage_.

"Right up here."

Blinking and silent, Chuck jerked his attention back to the road and was suddenly relieved that he'd slowed down so much because this turn was onto a road that wasn't even half as well-plowed as the one they were leaving. Even the high-sprung Jeep threatened to bottom out in the slushy ruts, but Chuck was strangely relieved to have to focus on his driving. It meant he didn't have to think about what the hell had just happened.

After long moments of uncomfortable quiet and the Jeep's low, throbbing hum, the seppo let his head fall back against the headrest. "It wasn't a gun."

Jarred out of a near-trance, Chuck grunted. "What?"

The whacker huffed a quiet laugh. "I don't have a gun."

Scowling and more confused than he'd ever admit to, he shot the fuckwit in the passenger seat a glare. "What the fuck did you jab in my back then?"

Said fuckwit let go of the oh-shit handle, dug in his coat pocket, and tossed something into Chuck's lap. Chuck picked it up and stared at it for a second before slamming on the brakes hard enough that the Jeep skidded, fishtailed, and damn near swapped ends in the middle of the road despite the ruts. Captain Fucking America grabbed the oh-shit handle again but still slammed his knees into the dash from the sudden stop.

"You took me hostage with a Butterfinger??"

Chuckling weakly, the fucking septic clamped his right hand over his left upper arm. "Can you warn me next time you do that? The bleeding isn't that bad right now, but if I have to use my arm to catch myself...."

"You took me hostage with a goddamn _Butterfinger!_ "

Sighing, ol' Cap rolled his head to the side and looked at Chuck with shadowed blue eyes that seemed to hold all the weariness of the ages. "I told you. No one was supposed to get hurt."

And with that, the asshole had the nerve to pass out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck really only had two options: dump his unconscious captor out here in the boonies or _not_ dump his unconscious captor out here in the boonies. It shouldn't be this difficult a choice. The fucking septic had taken him hostage -- at candybar-point, no less -- and damn near gotten him killed.

But Captain Fucking America had also taken a bullet for him. Oh, it wasn't a mortal wound; Chuck had already checked, and while the bullet had torn through coat and sweater and thermals and dug a divot of meat out of the bloke's upper arm, it wasn't necessarily a deadly injury as long as the bleeding stopped and no infection set in. Unfortunately, Chuck had no doubt that, if he dumped the dumbass out here in the frigid Alaskan woods with that much blood loss, said dumbass would probably die of exposure.

If the cops didn't find him and arrest him first.

Chuck found himself strangely reluctant to allow that to happen. And, dammit, he was curious. Now that the worst edge of his mortified fury at being abducted by some random fucking whacker with a goddamn Butterfinger had faded, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell ol' Cap thought he was doing, robbing convenience stores while simultaneously being a fucking Boy Scout. Was the lousy $2,879 from the till and safe -- yes, Chuck had counted while damn near shotgunning the Toblerone in an effort to calm down and think rationally -- really worth such a balls-up robbery? If so, why?

After entirely too long a consideration, Chuck grudgingly turned off his cell phone -- he'd been in the game too long to not know that pinging his cell would be his father's first move, followed shortly by remotely turning it the hell back on and pinging it anyway -- then crawled half into the back seat for his first aid kit and his ankle piece. He hated the ankle piece and would much prefer his personal, which always felt comforting and reliable resting in the small of his back, but these were far from optimal circumstances, and he'd just have to make do.

Grumbling under his breath, he twisted back into the driver's seat and strapped the gun around the ankle of his boot, belatedly grateful he'd left his fatigues loose and flopping outside his boots because they'd been all bunchy wadded up with the thermals he was wearing under them. At least his captor wouldn't know that a real weapon had finally come into the equation.

Grumbling again at the reminder of the goddamn candybar that was the cause of all his current sorrows -- and oh, he would never, ever live that down if anyone at the PPDC ever found out -- he popped open the first aid kit and took out a stack of gauze pads and a handful of alcohol wipes. He didn't have any sutures, but a few butterfly clips should do in a pinch.

Placing his supplies in easy reach on the Jeep's dash, he again twisted in his seat to finagle Cap's arm out of the bulky coat, exposing a bloody, tattered sweater that had seen better days. Maybe way back when dirt was new and dinosaurs roamed the earth. Shaking his head, he worked the seppo's arm up through the loose neck of the hideous sweater, then just ripped the hole in the thermal shirt wider. It was clearly a loss, its original color lost to the blood soaking it from the shoulder down. The wound had bled more than Chuck liked, but it was clotting well. Just needed some disinfecting and a little help stopping completely.

The sharp, stinging scent of rubbing alcohol filled the Jeep's steadily colder interior as he ripped open the first package and went to work. Taking a good hold on Cap's forearm in case the seppo woke up fighting, Chuck swiped the drippy wipe over the sluggishly bleeding wound.

"Ow, _fuck!_ "

Sure enough, his fuckwit of a captor tried to jerk away, and only that bruising grip on his arm kept him in his seat.

"Oi, shut it, mate. Be still."

Another swipe had the bloke hissing in a harsh breath, but at least the whacker didn't jerk away again. Teeth clenched, ol' Cap winced an eye open and glared at him.

"The fuck are we?"

Working quickly now that the patient was awake and he could use both hands, Chuck tossed the first wipe into the floorboard and ripped open another, disinfecting the entire wound as best he could.

"How the hell should I know? You're the one giving directions."

Unfortunately, his prodding set the whole thing to bleeding again, but if he remembered correctly, letting it bleed a little would help flush out the wound, so he didn't worry too much. Besides, that's what the gauze pads were for.

"We still on the county road?"

Rolling his eyes, he stripped the packaging from two gauze pads and pressed them over the wound, pushing hard enough to get another pained hiss from his captor/patient. "If you mean 'are we still on the fucking no-name side road where you passed out like a little girl', then yes."

"Cops?"

"Haven't seen any."

They were quiet for a long moment. Chuck checked under the gauze pads a couple of times to see if the wound was clotting again, then added another pad when the first two bled through. Cap sat, pale and tense and jaw-clenched, in the passenger seat, making no effort to break away from the painful pressure on his arm, his right hand white-knuckling the oh-shit handle overhead.

When he was satisfied the bleeding had stopped at least enough to finish patching up, Chuck tweezed together the edges of the wound as best he could and taped them down with four butterfly clips. He eyed the patch job critically, idly wishing he had at least two more clips. Since he didn't, he gave up, slapped on another double-layer of gauze, and taped the makeshift bandage into place with the last of his nursing tape.

Still gritting his teeth, Cap carefully shrugged himself back into the bulk of his ratty old sweater, then pulled his coat back on and into place. He was almost translucently pale and looked exhausted, but he still rolled his head to the side and forced a tight, strained smile.

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

Uncomfortable now, Chuck shrugged and put away his first aid supplies, not meeting the bloke's eyes. "Yeah, well, you didn't have to take a bullet, either."

The temperature in the Jeep had become almost as frigid as the temperature outside, so Chuck keyed the ignition and cranked the heat. For a long, uncomfortable moment, they sat quietly in a borrowed Jeep on an unknown road in the wilds of godforsaken Alaska, two complete strangers who had no idea what to make of each other and no idea what to do next. Finally, realizing that even the most incompetent police force in the world should probably have blindly stumbled across them by now, Chuck gave in and spoke.

"Can I drop you someplace?"

Cap shot him a weary look. "You're not a hostage, man. You can drop me here if you want. Not like I can put up much of a fight at the moment."

Irritated, mostly because he was uncomfortable and didn't know why, he grunted. "If I wanted to drop you here, dumbass, I'd have done it an hour ago. Now where the hell were we going before you passed out like a sheila?"

Huffing that soft laugh, the seppo gestured at the road with his right hand. "Straight ahead, then left at the main road."

"About fucking time."


	3. Chapter 3

Thirty miles and no fewer than three shit-roads later, Chuck turned into a poorly-maintained driveway that stretched off back into even more rugged wilderness than they'd already driven through. Low-hanging branches, hanging lower still with their burden of snow and ice, scraped the top and sides of the Jeep, but despite the obvious ruts on either side of the middle hump, they didn't bottom out or hang up anywhere, and the ruts actually helped keep the Jeep from slewing off into the drifts piled on either side of the path. After a good quarter of a mile, the ragged trees finally pulled back a bit to reveal an abandoned-looking shack of a house in the middle of a snow-drifted clearing.

A coldly white full moon had broken through the clouds, and its pitiless light wasn't flattering. Sickly white paint peeled in scabrous twists from the wood siding. At least two of the windows in the ramshackle upstairs were broken and boarded up. The roof was covered in a near-uniform blanket of white, except for two gaping black holes where it had clearly caved in at some point. The jutting porch was honest to God crooked, canting off to the left like the last drunk at a good friend's wake. An equally ramshackle husk of a garage huddled at the back corner of the dwelling, looking almost ashamed, as if it were trying to hide behind the house's decaying bulk.

"Where the hell are we?"

Sighing, Captain America -- who, to be honest, looked too goddamn pale and tired to earn the name anymore -- shouldered open the passenger door and eased out into a knee-high drift.

"Home, sweet home."

Frowning, Chuck shot the pitiful edifice another look. "Are you serious? This place looks haunted as balls."

He hadn't meant to blurt out that last bit, but the idea of someone actually living in this rotting hulk in the dead of winter....

Cap's soft reply was nearly lost in the night, even though the wind had finally died down and the wilderness was eerily silent under its blanket of snow. "It almost is."

Chuck shot him a sharp look, but Cap was already reaching into the floorboard for his precious bag of money.

"Thanks for the ride." The seppo managed a small smile. "And I really am sorry."

And, though he should nod and throw the Jeep into reverse and drive like hell out of the fever dream his little trip to the store had become, Chuck found himself keying off the engine and climbing out into the snow, cursing as he realized exactly how deep a knee-deep snowdrift really was.

"You're sorry all right, mate." Shoving his quickly-freezing hands into his coat's pockets, he jerked his head toward the haunted house looming at the edge of the clearing. "Still not as sorry as you're gonna be, though."

Cap eyed him for a long moment but was apparently too run-down to argue. Sighing, he closed the Jeep's door and trudged wearily through the snow to the hazardously leaning porch, where he tried to stomp the snow off his legs with indifferent success. Shouldering the driver's side door shut, Chuck followed with a bit more energy and would've done a hell of a lot better job of stomping off the snow if he hadn't been afraid of stomping right through the porch's rickety floorboards. Without a word, he followed his erstwhile captor into the shadowed, dusty interior of the saddest-looking shelter he'd ever seen and found that his impression of it soured further with every step.

The place was haunted, all right. Ghosts looked down from all sides. It was too dark inside the pokey little foyer to make out details of the people framed in all those pictures, so Chuck was left with the unsettling impression of pale face-shapes with dark eyesockets staring at him. The hair at the back of his neck tried to stand up, and he scratched at it irritably as he followed further into the darkness. Nothing on earth would get him to admit that he was crowding up behind the fuckwit seppo. Just like nothing on earth would ever get him to acknowledge the uneasy feeling that all those pale people-shapes in the foyer had turned to watch him do so.

The hallway from the foyer to the kitchen was cramped and dark and uncomfortable, and Chuck was immeasurably glad when ol' Cap went right to a Coleman lantern on the little round table in the middle -- which was crooked, of course, even propped up at one corner with a matchbook stuffed under the stubby leg -- and lit it with practiced ease. For a moment, he wondered if this old tomb even had electricity, but he discarded the thought as soon as it surfaced. It wasn't warm in here, by any stretch, but it was definitely warmer than outside, which meant it had some sort of heat source that was safe to leave on unattended.

Relieved with even the flickering light of a single lantern, Chuck looked around and again found himself wondering who the hell he'd stumbled across. Cap held himself and moved like a fighter -- no, like a _soldier_ \-- but this place....

Peeling linoleum tile crackled underfoot as the seppo moved to make a pot of coffee in an ancient electric pot. Besides the crooked table, there were two mismatched chairs, one of which was missing half the slats in its back, a refrigerator from the prior century (and maybe the century prior to that), a narrow little gas camp stove, and a spread of cabinets with doors hanging every which way but straight. The sink and counter looked solid enough and surprisingly clean, but otherwise, the place was about as livable and inviting as an abandoned insane asylum.

And suddenly, Chuck couldn't stand the curiosity anymore.

"Just who the hell are you, Cap?"

That earned him a narrow-eyed look over a broad shoulder. "Why do you keep calling me Cap?"

Unwilling to explain the whole all-American golden boy looks or acknowledge exactly how many comic books he actually owned, Chuck grunted and scuffed the toe of his boot at the crumbling linoleum. "What the hell else am I supposed to call you?"

This time, the whacker didn't even bother with a glance. "You could call me Raleigh."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because it's my name."

He heard the soft amusement in the low voice and felt his face flush. "Oh. Well. I mean, it's not like we were properly introduced or anything."

"I guess you're right." The bloke, Raleigh, opened a lopsided cabinet and took out two chipped mugs. "What about you? Or are you content with 'pretty boy'?"

His face heated up further and he grunted, shrugging out of his coat as if it was to blame for the color in his cheeks. "Chuck."

"Well, Chuck, do you take sugar? I'm sorry, but I don't have any cream."

"Black is fine."

Raleigh turned back to the table and handed off one of the mugs, and Chuck couldn't help but be grateful for the warmth of the cup and the bracing fragrance of the steam he greedily inhaled.

"Cheers, mate."

Looking even more worn down in the lantern's flickering glow, Raleigh smiled crookedly and gestured toward the nearest chair. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm gonna go turn up the furnace."

For a regrettable moment, Chuck almost volunteered to go with him rather than huddle at the table near the light. He couldn't help but think about the ghosts staring down from the foyer walls, but he somehow managed to rein himself in.

Just... something about this place left him unsettled. His familiar world of black ops and the cannibalistic religious nutbars running the Kaiju Underground had never seemed so far away and unreal. It's like the moment he stepped into that convenience store, the entire rest of the world had stopped and this new thing that had nothing to do with his prior life had started.

He heard his dubious host moving about in deeper rooms and an odd thud as the unseen furnace kicked on and started pumping blissful warmth up through the vents in the floor, so he quickly took out his cell phone to make sure it was still off, then took out the battery to prevent it being remotely activated. He probably hadn't been missed yet, but he certainly would be at some point, and... well, he was curious. His life, since he was barely in double digits, had been nothing but the PPDC and the jaeger program and a war the UN didn't want to acknowledge was too big for them to handle, and this was... something else. While he felt strange and uneasy here, he also felt... fascinated.

He'd safely stowed his batteryless phone by the time the seppo returned, shrugging off his coat as the heater did its job of thawing off the worst of the chill. As the poor bloke finally sank into the nearly-backless other chair, Chuck couldn't help but wince at the extravagant splatters and streaks of blood down the left arm of the ugly old sweater.

"You should burn that shirt, mate."

Again, he hadn't actually meant to say anything, but at least the comment earned him a direct look and a faint grin.

"It'll wash. Cold water works wonders."

"Mate, it's ripped straight through."

A shrug. "Easy to fix. I've done it before."

Oh, the questions that casual comment brought to mind. Frowning, Chuck studied this stranger with his shadowed blue eyes and pale, even features and soldier's way of moving. "Who are you, Ray?"

"It's Raleigh."

"Yeah, you said. But seriously, who are you? Why are you robbing convenience stores when you clearly don't want anyone but yourself hurt? What's with this fucking haunted house out in the middle of nowhere?"

The seppo had the brass balls to eyeball him and shrug. "I could ask the same. Who are you, Chuck? If not for the fact that you thought I'd scramble your kidneys at the first wrong move, you could have easily disarmed me at least three times." He held up a hand before Chuck could even begin to interrupt. "You move like a fighter, so don't try to tell me otherwise. And I caught a glimpse of your military ID on the counter."

Grumbling under his breath, Chuck subsided, fiddling with his coffee cup. Raleigh's instant recognition of a military ID gave him entirely too much to think about.

"You let me into your Jeep when I'd already released you. Hell, you pulled me in yourself. And when you could have dumped my body in the woods and been about your way, you patched me up and gave me a ride home, instead. So... who are _you?_ "

Gritting his teeth, Chuck refused to answer. Unfortunately, the fuckwit only nodded, as if that's exactly what he expected.

"So there ya go."

They sat through another uncomfortable silence until Raleigh sighed heavily and gulped back the last of his coffee.

"Look, Chuck, I'm grateful for what you did for me, but I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow and could really use a hot shower and some sleep."

It was a none-too-subtle hint for Chuck to bugger off, and he knew well enough that he ought to. Raleigh looked dead on his feet, his blue eyes the only color in is face. Also, Herc was probably starting to notice that his son hadn't returned yet. And Chuck could use a good, mind-erasing sleep himself before the big pow-wow tomorrow morning.

But he didn't put aside his coffee cup. Didn't stand up when Raleigh did. Didn't look away from the growing exasperation on those Captain America features as the silence drew out.

Finally, Chuck lifted his cup to his mouth slowly and deliberately. "Don't get that bandage wet."

 _I'm not going anywhere_ , his level gaze said.

 _The fuck am I gonna do with you?_ Raleigh's slow headshake replied.

It was a standoff, but not a particularly fraught one. Chuck knew he had the upper hand, if only because he hadn't suffered a gunshot wound and subsequent blood loss. Sure enough, the seppo backed down, though not without another rueful headshake.

"The woodbox is full." He gestured tiredly toward a room further into the house. "You know how to use a fireplace, right?"

Likely a living room, then. Chuck could only hope the couch wasn't as haunted as the rest of the house.

"It's been a while, but I can manage."

A jaw-cracking yawn split the poor bastard's face. "Ugh. Make yourself at home, then. I'll get you some blankets."

And just like that, Chuck found himself staying the night in his mysterious kidnapper's haunted house in the wilds of fucking Alaska. What a fucking day.


	4. Chapter 4

The couch was surprisingly comfortable and blissfully free of dust, insects, and mice, and the fireplace put out a wonderful, crackling, glowing warmth that seemed to soak into the fleecy blankets the seppo had provided and go right to his bones. In all, Chuck slept better than he had in years, which, considering the circumstances, struck him a bit odd. Even after the fire died down to embers, he slept on, cocooned in a huddle of soft blankets.

Of course, comfort or no comfort, he was a military man born and bred, and lazing about after 06:00 had been trained out of him before his teens. He was up and poking through the house with the lantern long before Raleigh, cursing because he had no idea if the sun even rose at this time of year in goddamn Alaska. He really wanted a cup of coffee, but it wouldn't do for the smell of it brewing to pull his reluctant host out of sleep before Chuck could do a little fact-finding.

It was probably bad form to barge uninvited into someone's house and start snooping, but he clearly wouldn't get answers any other way. And Raleigh had sort of asked for it, what with the whole hostage thing.

First and foremost, Chuck marched into the foyer and confronted the ghosts that had so unsettled him in the night. Lantern light did little to dispel the ghostly illusion, so he flipped the light switch and breathed a sigh of relief when the overhead light actually came on. In its dusty glow, the pictures on the walls were just pictures. Family photos. A smiling couple with one child, then with two, then with three. Two boys and one girl. Pictures in winter with stocking caps and mittens. Pictures in summer with a grill and a wading pool. Pictures of this house looking like an actual home rather than a rotting, forgotten corpse.

Both relieved and disturbed, he glanced briefly at the stairs up to the second level, noted that the top of the steps had been boarded over (likely to save on heating, especially since the roof had clearly been breached), and moved on to the next room, but it held no secrets. It was a guest room and, from the dusty cobwebs festooned from every corner and piece of sheeted furniture, hadn't been used since the Dark Ages. Another door off the main hallway opened on a small, equally unused half-bathroom with just a toilet and a sink. A thick layer of dust coated everything, and he backed out before he started sneezing, then turned out the foyer light so he wouldn't forget later.

Instead of going back into the kitchen, he headed off down a short dog run -- not really long enough to be a proper hallway -- and found a storage room and a set of crumbling cement steps that likely led down to a cellar or even an actual basement. Chuck had no intention of finding out, eyeing the draping cobwebs warily and moving back up the hall and through the kitchen.

Two doors opened off of the living room. One of them, he knew, was Raleigh's bedroom. The other, he discovered, was a study of some sort, or maybe an office. It wasn't as cobwebby as the guest room or cellar steps, but it wasn't quite as dust-free as the kitchen and living room, either, so Chuck tried not to leave too many clean spots as he set the lantern down and quietly tugged open the drawers of the desk butting up against the heavily-curtained windows on the wall opposite the door.

Frustratingly enough, he found nothing revealing. If Raleigh had any identifying or incriminating paperwork, the whacker must keep it in his own room. All Chuck found was more family photos scattered over the desk, an untidy stack of old, faded correspondence in one drawer, and a plain wooden jewelry box with nothing terribly valuable inside in another drawer. Frowning, he went to the bookshelf, but it only contained actual books, a few of which were missing, leaving dusty gaps like yanked-out teeth in a crypted corpse's mouth.

Grudgingly admitting to temporary defeat, he went back to the kitchen before he knocked something over in the dark and had to explain his snooping. He'd been up long enough to be hungry and figured it was safe to start some good, strong coffee. Unfortunately, there wasn't much by way of food in the decrepit old refrigerator, so he resigned himself to plain eggs and set about making breakfast for two.

For a moment, he debated putting his battery back in his cell. Herc would definitely be looking for him by now, and the minute his father had Tendo try to turn his cell back on and fail, it'd be just a matter of time until he was found. Hercules Hansen was the kind of hunter the jaeger program had been named for, and Chuck wouldn't normally have let his signal go dark voluntarily.

But... he wasn't done here yet. He didn't know why, but he wasn't done. The battery stayed out.

Sure enough, the scent of brewing coffee soon had a disheveled and still half-asleep Raleigh shambling into the kitchen in a t-shirt and sweats and thick socks, blinking bleary, confused eyes and scruffing his good hand through his hair.

"Mornin', Ray. How do you like your eggs?"

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the poor bloke tried to wake up enough to not dump coffee on his hand instead of in his cup. After a big gulp that had to burn all the way down, the seppo dragged a hand across his eyes and slumped back against the counter.

"I have eggs?"

Despite his morning of futility, Chuck snorted. "And juice, which you ought to be drinking instead of coffee, what with all the claret you spilled last night. Although it might be past its date. I didn't look."

"I think it's still good. I... haven't been home much this past week."

Chuck shot him a smirk. "Too busy holding innocent convenience store customers hostage with candybars?"

The snark earned him a wry grin. "Not exactly." Raleigh took another long gulp of coffee, the grin fading. "So... what are you still doing here?"

One eyebrow rose.

The seppo shrugged. "I half-expected you to take the money and run. I wouldn't have stopped you." Another shrug. "Or even tried to find you."

He blinked as he realized that he hadn't even considered such a thing. Admittedly, a couple grand wasn't that much in the big scheme of things, but it was obviously worth a certain amount of danger to Raleigh. If he was honest with himself, Chuck had completely forgotten about the money, even though it huddled in its stupid plastic bag in plain sight on the kitchen table.

"I mean, it's not like you don't have anywhere else to be."

Which was true, though he doubted Raleigh knew exactly how true. What exactly did he think to accomplish here?

Frowning, he flipped the eggs sizzling in the pan and debated his answer. Finally, he shrugged and forced a smirk. "Well, you do have my entire stock of emergency chocolate in that goody bag of yours. That's not something I can just walk away from."

To his surprise, real amusement touched that all-American face, lighting up the blue eyes and taking ten years off Raleigh's age. For a split second, Chuck felt his heart stutter in his chest. Then, apparently oblivious to Chuck's sudden mental doglock, the seppo went to the table and dug around in the bag.

"Let me relieve your mind right now, then. I would never deprive a soldier of his...."

The humor in that pleasant voice faded out on the last few words until the sentence died out completely, and Chuck turned with a frown to find Raleigh staring at a card he had apparently pulled from the bag. The military ID, of course. Apparently, it had been swept in with everything else.

But what was that look? The seppo couldn't possibly know....

Straightening, Raleigh wiped all expression from his face, leaving it disturbingly blank. "You're RAAF?"

Narrowing his eyes, Chuck nodded. The PPDC was no longer part of any one nation's military, but they all still had their old ranks and were still technically active-duty military.

The darkness from last night touched those blue eyes for a moment before the seppo again firmly wiped away all expression. "You're a pilot?"

"Copilot, yeah. Mostly navigation and gunning." Though he and his father hadn't piloted since the Kaiju had switched to drones and started mopping the floor with the even the best fighter jets available.

"Huh." The normally pleasant voice sounded... almost choked. "That must be pretty exciting."

More than a little suspicious now, Chuck reached back and turned off the heat under the eggs before they burned. "Yeah, it's a thrill a minute."

"Mm." After another jaw-clenching look, Raleigh put the ID down on the table and pulled the bag of peanut butter cups out. "Somehow, I don't think these'll go well with eggs."

The fucking septic chose that moment to look up and try to smile, and every drop of Chuck's suspicion washed out of him at the simple but deep pain etched into those handsome features. What about a stupid pilot ID could cause such a gut-churning level of pain in someone who'd been smiling like the sunrise a minute before?

Speechless, Chuck could only stare, wishing he had the social grace to know how to handle the situation. Anger and irritation, he could do. Snark and banter, he could do. Emotional turmoil? Fuck that.

Swallowing hard, Raleigh turned his face away. "I, uh... need to change this bandage. It bled through a bit in the night."

Before Chuck could decide to say anything, the seppo was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Herc Hansen was in no mood for bullshit.

He hadn't worried when his moody jackass of a son hadn't come back last night. The kid might be a little shit ninety percent of the time, but Chuck could pull out the charm when he needed it, and Herc figured he'd found himself a nice, warm bed to share and work off some off that pent-up aggression. If nothing else, a flash of that dimple usually did the trick. Even when there was no sign of him at breakfast, Herc wasn't unduly concerned.

But now, it was ten minutes before a meeting they'd both been dreading since Pentecost's call, and no one had seen head nor tail of Chuck Hansen since Herc had kicked him out of the Shatterdome to give everyone a little peace.

Tendo shrugged nervously, unused to seeing the comparatively level-headed senior Hansen looking so thunderous. "It keeps going directly to voice mail. I can keep trying?"

Gritting his teeth, Herc shook his head. "Fuck it. Let's just get this over with. I can tear him a new asshole when he gets back."

Entering the makeshift conference room like a bomb looking for a place to go off, the new head of the jaeger program took his place at one end of the long table and tried not to glare at his charges. Stacker Pentecost sat at the opposite end, not looking like someone retiring due to health reasons. In fact, in Herc's opinion, Stacker Pentecost looked like he could tackle a bear.

Fucking cancer.

He cleared his throat. "All right, I'll cut right to it. The UN has pretty much chopped off our balls by cutting our funding. We can afford roughly eight more months at current expenditures. We've lost three jaeger teams this year alone, and the Kaiju Underground just keeps growing. If there's an uninhabited island on the Pacific Rim that they haven't purchased or claimed and added to their stronghold, it's not on any map in existence."

Letting that shit cake without any icing sit on the table, he looked around the room at the remains of the best goddamn fighting corps he'd ever been privileged to belong to. The Kaidanovskys sat off to the right, silent and imposing and... reassuring in their solidity. Herc respected them above all others but, perhaps, Pentecost himself. The Wei triplets sat across from them on his left, almost identical and a little freakish in how they all stared at him as one. They were quiet, quick, and brutally efficient on intel-gathering missions, but they were fatal poetry when put on wetwork.

Just up from the Kaidanovskys sat Dr. Gottlieb, the stodgy maths genius that had kept them a bare four steps behind Kaiju movements for the past year and a half. On his other side sat Dr. Call-Me-Newt Geiszler, a neuro-whatsits-surgeon or some such who had pretty much single-handedly proven that the Kaiji weren't just a bunch of rich, well-placed religious whack-jobs with an eye for world domination but a serious threat to humanity as a whole. The UN clearly still didn't believe that, entirely, but Herc did. Newt's pathologies on recovered human sacrifices had given him more than one nightmare in the past year.

Across from the maths dag sat Tendo, loyal as a brother but currently looking a few shades paler than usual. Tendo had been Stacker's right-hand man since before the PPDC was founded. Luckily, the bloke had no problem expanding that loyalty to include Herc.

And finally, between Tendo and Pentecost sat Mako Mori, the brilliant Renaissance woman who wore more hats in the PPDC than anyone in the room. She was trained as both a copilot and a jaeger (though she'd never flown outside a simulator or run an op), had years of engineering experience, helped Tendo monitor communications and collate gathered intel, and could even assist with Newt's experiments and autopsies in a pinch.

She was also Pentecost's adopted daughter. He had rescued her from being ritually sacrificed along with her mother and father. Fortunately -- or unfortunately -- the Kaiju had saved her for last. She had watched, helpless, as her parents were virtually deboned alive.

No one who'd known her more than five minutes either doubted her resolve or dared remind her why it was so strong in the first place. She was a force to be reckoned with.

It could be worse, Herc reasoned, trying to calm himself and make this meeting more than a rehash of exactly how deep was the shit they were in. There was a remote possibility that Mako could partner up with Chuck now that Herc had been bum's-rushed into the driver's seat, but somehow, he didn't see Pentecost letting that happen. Chuck was... loyal, yes, and driven, but... brash. And arrogant. And while the brat was a seasoned fighter and a skilled assassin, he tended to take the whole "if you have a shot, you take it" motto a bit far.

And just where the hell was Chuck, anyway?

Shaking off the instant return of irritation, Herc cleared his throat and refocused. "Right. So we all know the score. We are _losing_."

Aleksis Kaidonovsky scowled. On his large, bearish features, it looked like an omen of doom.

"Sir, why has the UN cut our funding? Did they not read Dr. Geiszler's latest brief?" Trust Mako to keep them on track.

Herc shrugged, his jaw tight. "Doesn't matter. We tell them the Kaiju are using their human trafficking operation to practice cannibalism, and they call it religious freedom. We tell them the latest intel suggests the human sacrifice procedures they've been honing the last ten years seem to be an attempt to call forth a bunch of moldy old gods to purge the world of all non-believers, and they call it quaint mythology. We tell them the fuckers are using stolen DARPA technology to pilot drones against all opposing forces without risking their own hides, and they say they can't regulate another government's technological advancement without overstepping UN guidelines."

His fist pounded down on the table hard enough to make everyone's coffee jump before he could rein himself in. From old habit, he looked to Stacker for guidance, but his old friend just shook his head. It wasn't his show anymore.

Gathering himself, he squared his shoulders. "It doesn't matter why they've cut the purse strings. What matters is that the Kaiju Underground is growing out of all control and getting more and more psychotic as it goes, and we seem to be the only force willing and able to fight it. And now, we have a deadline." God, he hated to admit it, but.... "I am... open to suggestions."

Silence around the table. Oddly enough, Herc found himself wishing Chuck was present. His son was a right asshole, but he was never shy and always had a plan, even if it was a bad one.

Finally, like this was primary school, Call-Me-Newt raised his hand. Rolling his eyes, Herc gestured for him to speak up.

"Honestly, sir, the cannibalism and human sacrifice isn't the real danger. Don't get me wrong; that's bad enough, and it's what you jaeger types were originally recruited to stop, but...."

The worst thing about Dr. Geiszler was that the more excited and invested he got, the higher-pitched and more like a coked-out chihuahua he became.

"Look, the problem is the technology. Not only did they somehow infiltrate the US military and steal top secret DARPA tech, but they _used_ it. The Kaiju have always been well-heeled, but somehow, they've managed to suck in some serious scientists and engineers and... well... look at how fast their drones have advanced." Gesturing excitedly, Newt damn near bounded out of his seat with intensity. "Six years ago, they could barely get a drone in the air without crashing into another one. Five years ago, they took out their first dual-pilot F-27s, knocking every country's air force right out of the fight. Three years ago, they sent their drones into actual fucking _space_. Last year, they started making surgical, targeted attacks on deep-cover jaeger teams, and here we are today."

Both the Kaidanovskys and the Weis scowled at being reminded of the grueling losses, but Newt wasn't done yet.

"Whether or not these crackpots can sacrifice enough people in horrific enough ways to summon Cthulhu from R'lyeh or whatever is besides the point. What _isn't_ beside the point is that some of my most recent autopsies haven't just been sacrifices." Mercifully lowering his voice, Newt leaned over the table and looked around the group like a kid telling a campfire story. "They've been _modifications_."

Thrown by the abrupt change of tone, Herc leaned forward and braced his hands on the table. "Run that by me again, doctor. And please tell me what it has to do with their drones kicking our asses six ways from Sunday."

"Don't take my word for it." The little whacker thunked a fist into Dr. Gottlieb's shoulder. "Tell 'em, Hermann."

"I've asked you not to call me that."

"Whatever. Lay it out."

Grudgingly, Dr. Gottlieb consulted his tablet. "Newton noticed that some of the... exhibits... brought in with the last bunch didn't look like the usual sacrifices. The bodies weren't desecrated. They were... mutated."

Herc frowned. "Mutilated?"

Gottlieb shook his head. " _Mutated_. It wasn't just visible changes in appearance, although those were present. Newton, if you please."

Geiszler jumped back in, excited as ever. "The pupils were vertical slits instead of round. And the skin cells were... larger. More like scales than unique cells. The whole carcass of one of them had a greenish tint that I initially took to be chemically induced, but further testing showed that it was an actual cellular pigmentation." The whacker was practically lying across the table in his attempt to explain more fully. "Sir, these aren't natural mutations. These are deliberate changes to these victims' DNA. It's gene manipulation."

Gottlieb nodded, pale but stoic. "And they're getting better at it. More consistent with their results."

Geiszler, fully caught up in his paroxysms of fascination, smacked his hand down on the table. "These fuckers make scientologists look like a backwoods tent revival."

Suddenly, Tendo stood up and left the room, looking about two steps shy of throwing up. Herc didn't blame him, though he was surprised by the sudden defection. In fact, he couldn't stop himself from sinking down into the chair at the head of the table, feeling pale.

"What's the end game, though? What the hell are they trying to do?"

The doctors exchanged a look that Herc didn't like one little bit. The pair were oil and water at the best of times, and to see them agreeing on anything sent a shaft of ice up his back and set all his nerves to jangling.

"We're not sure." Geiszler paused, exchanged another look with Gottlieb, and shrugged. "It might be something... to do with how much better their drones are becoming?"

Herc's head twitched, and he fought the urge to snort. "Dr. Geiszler, are you suggesting that genetically engineering a race of lizard people is making them better drone pilots?"

The little whacker fidgeted. "Not... exactly, no. I think the... lizard thing is... incidental. I think they're trying to--"

Gottlieb sighed. "There is considerable evidence to suggest that these modifications are to develop a direct connection from a drone pilot's mind to the drone aircraft. To do away with controls entirely and make the drone a literal extension of the pilot's will."

Herc's mouth snapped shut, and he leaned back in his seat, gobsmacked and not ashamed to admit it. Here, he'd been belittling the UN for their egregious blindness when it came to the threat the Kaiju posed. Could... could such a thing even be possible?

Visibly reluctant, Gottlieb continued. "Sir, eliminating an even momentary delay of information relay between pilot and drone would be... devastating. The Kaiju could basically kill at will without ever leaving the safety of their stronghold in the Pacific, where we clearly can't get to them."

Herc glanced around the table, seeing varying degrees of his own mental doglock on every face. Even Pentecost's. What the doctors were suggesting was....

"How close are they?"

Geiszler shrugged. "We don't know. We don't have enough information to even be sure that this is the direction they're going. I just... ya know... certain changes in the brain anatomy suggest...."

Herc took a deep breath and wondered what in God's name to do now. He couldn't help shooting Stacker a look of pure malice for dropping this ugly bag of vipers into his lap, but he knew it wasn't exactly Stacker's fault. Not like Pentecost _wanted_ to be dying of inoperable cancer.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm open to suggestions."

Before anyone could speak up, Tendo burst back into the room, eyes wide and hands trembling. Herc shot to his feet, caught between reprimanding the bloke for scaring the shit out of everyone and demanding what the hell kind of shit storm was raining down on them now, but said bloke beat him to the punch.

"Sir, we have a problem."

He snorted. "We have a big fucking problem, Tendo, but--"

"It's Chuck."

Everything in him went still and quiet. "What about Chuck?"

Tendo swallowed hard. "He's missing."

He blinked slowly. "Missing?"

"I pinged his cell from the comm and got no response. I figured he just turned it off or whatever, but when I tried to remote activate it...."

His eyes narrowed, deceptive calm still keeping him cool and collected. Tendo knew as well as Herc that it could be something as simple as a dead battery.

Sure enough, Tendo swallowed hard again. "There's a report of an armed robbery at a convenience store just down the road. It's... the closest one to the Shatterdome." This time, the swallow was both loud and dry enough that the whole room heard it. "Local PD reports a hostage situation and... an injury."

His eyes closed. "What kind of injury?"

"...Gunshot wound."

"Stacker--"

"Go, Herc. I can take over for a few days."

He felt the hunter side of him rise up, and as far as he was concerned, the Kaiju no longer existed. He opened his eyes and met Tendo's, noting the slight flinch that proved he looked exactly as deadly as he felt.

"Tendo, get me everything."

"On it, sir."

Without another word, Herc strode out of the meeting.


	6. Chapter 6

After eating plain eggs alone in some random bloke's shitty, dark kitchen and even stooping to washing dishes, Chuck gave up minding his own business and went looking for answers. This time, though, he went right to the source.

Not like the bedroom door was closed. Or the bathroom door, for that matter.

However, the sight of Raleigh standing shirtless in the harsh glare from an uncovered bulb dangling down from the bathroom ceiling stole all of Chuck's forward momentum, and he stopped halfway across the bedroom to get a sense of what he was seeing.

Ol' Cap was... _gorgeous_. Built like a brick shithouse and rippling with the kind of muscle usually reserved for active military types or... hell... farmers and dedicated construction workers and such, Raleigh was a wet dream come to life as he twisted and flexed to try to get another bandage settled just right over the clipped bullet graze.

But something was... off.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to get past the miles of bared skin and muscle and realize that the left side of that gorgeous form actually looked a little worse for wear. In fact, it almost looked like Raleigh had gone a few rounds with a shark. Jagged, deep scars scattered over his left shoulder blade, shoulder, and pectoral and were etched into his ribs and flank. They weren't new scars, by any stretch, and they didn't seem to affect his mobility all that much, but....

Unable to stop himself, Chuck blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Jesus, mate. What the hell happened to you?"

The seppo startled a little, then frowned and went back to trying to get the bandage just right. Getting a handle on himself -- and conveniently forgetting why he'd been staring so hard in the first place -- Chuck stepped into the bathroom and took over, plucking the taped-up gauze out of Raleigh's hand and shaking his head.

"Seriously, Ray. What, did you piss off a bear or something?"

Even as he spoke, he was lining up the bandage just right and eyeballing the wound to make sure it didn't look inflamed or swollen.

After a long moment, Raleigh spoke. "It was an accident. Happened a long time ago."

"Does it still hurt?"

There. Just right. Finally satisfied with the placement, he smoothed the tape down and definitely did not keep smoothing at it just to feel exactly how tight the muscle under his fingertips was. It had been a damn long time since a bloke had affected him like this. He usually went for women. In fact, he'd started to think the one time he'd crushed on a bloke had been more to piss off his old man than anything else.

"Sometimes." A shrug that flexed all that bared muscle. "Sometimes, I'll overwork my left arm and it's pretty useless for a few days, but that's getting better. It aches when it rains. The usual."

"Hm." He should really stop stroking at the nursing tape soon. Sighing, he did just that and forced himself to step away. Luckily, Raleigh didn't seem to have noticed anything odd. "So, what, car crash?"

Sighing, the seppo reached for a fresh henley and pulled it over his head. Chuck immediately felt his mind clear and felt like a right jackass. Clearing his throat, he backed out of the bathroom and belatedly realized that, at some point, Raleigh had ditched the sweats for clean jeans and the heavy winter boots he'd worn the night before. Unfortunately, the jeans were still unbuttoned and unzipped, and as the gorgeous fucker started tucking in the henley, Chuck couldn't help but notice exactly how well that ass filled out the seat and how the denim clung lovingly to thighs a porn star would be proud of.

What the hell was wrong with him? This was the bloke who had robbed -- _badly_ robbed -- a convenience store the night before and lived in a right shithole and went about in ratty old sweaters that even the Salvation Army would throw away.

Gritting his teeth, Chuck jerked his attention away from what shouldn't have caught his attention in the first place and forced himself to glance around the bedroom. He'd wanted a glimpse just that morning, after all. Unfortunately, the room was nearly as gutted as the rest of the house, though free of cobwebs and mostly free of dust.

Except for the big mirror over the dresser. Except for what was hung over the corner of that mirror.

Frowning, he ignored Raleigh, who moved to rummage around in the closet -- likely for another crappy old sweater to hide his amazing abs under -- and strode over to get a closer look. Sure enough, his suspicions were correct. For some reason, someone had draped a set of dogtags over the mirror.

Without stopping to think about whether or not this was a breach of privacy -- honestly, that ship had long since sailed, whether Raleigh knew it or not -- Chuck reached out, tugged the chain loose from the mirror's frame, and turned the tags over to read the name. His breath fell out of him, leaving him light-headed.

No fucking wonder his military ID card had so gutted the fucker.

Feeling... almost betrayed, Chuck spun around and glared at the fucking septic still fucking about in the fucking closet. "Becket?"

All that gorgeous muscle tensed.

"You're Raleigh fucking _Becket?_ "

Those eyes were icy blue as they glared back over a hunched shoulder. "You nosy little shit."

"You're Raleigh Fucking Becket!" He didn't even know why he was so angry, but... _fuck_. "You're the fucking septic that crashed Gipsy Danger and killed your brother--"

He didn't even see the seppo move before an iron-hard fist rocked him back on his heels, pain expoding through his head. Despite how furiously mindblown Chuck was at discovering that the mysterious whacker who had apparently spent the last five goddamn years robbing gas stations was Raleigh Fucking Becket -- who had started the downward spiral that had indirectly led to Chuck being in godforsaken Alaska in the first goddamn place -- he was never too far off his game. On sheer reflex, he struck back with all the bewildered, oddly _hurt_ anger burning through him, knocking Becket back a step and starting the fight in earnest.

It was a brutal match, and while Chuck soon felt blood trickling into his eye from a split eyebrow, he wasn't the only one bleeding. Raleigh wouldn't be drinking hot coffee any time soon with the split in his lower lip from a vicious left hook. A shot to the ribs left Chuck gasping, but a right cross sent the wanker reeling into the bed, where he tripped and rolled over the mattress to put some distance between them.

They squared off, gasping from the short but painful scrap, each waiting for the other to make a move. Chuck suddenly realized that he still clutched Raleigh's dogtags in his fist and that the chain was likely what had cut into the fucker's lip because the tags were now liberally smeared with blood.

After a charged moment, Becket broke. "Yancy's not dead."

Wary of some kind of ploy, Chuck didn't let his guard down. "The fuck are you on about? I saw the reports myself. Fuck, I saw the live footage."

He didn't mention that he'd been all of sixteen at the time and had just been commissioned as his father's copilot and had watched the disaster unfold with a sense of loss and fear so overwhelming that he'd had to excuse himself and hide in his room until the weak, useless tears stopped. He'd take that secret to his fucking grave.

"I know what you saw, and I know what the UN said. It's all a lie." Equally wary, Becket straightened from his ready stance and took a deep, shaking breath. "My brother isn't dead."

Then, the bastard had the gall to break down almost completely, those blue eyes darkening and tearing up as the asshole looked away and slumped at the shoulders.

"But he is dying."

Everything in him wanted to jump the fucker and beat him senseless then and there. Chuck knew what he had seen. No one could have survived being sucked out of the cockpit like Yancy Becket had. For some crazy, fucked up reason, Raleigh Fucking Becket was lying to him.

But... the agonizing sorrow on those Captain America features when he'd asked Chuck if he was a pilot....

That hadn't been fake. It was the same gut-wrecked expression twisting Becket's face right now, even though the fuckwit had turned mostly away to get himself under control.

Chuck wasn't sure anyone could fake that level of heartache.

Scowling and wondering when exactly he'd lost his fucking mind, he stared hard at the walking whirlwind that had swept into his usual life and thrown him into this alternate reality where it seemed like nothing he knew was set, was true.

"Prove it."

Swallowing hard, Raleigh nodded. "Okay."


	7. Chapter 7

Calling a temporary truce, they patched each other up, layered up against the bone-chilling wind blowing outside, and piled into the ancient, decrepit Ford mongrel 4x4 Raleigh coaxed out of the pitiful garage. It looked like a real dog, but the engine purred like a lion after a feast and a fuck and the heater worked, so Chuck settled back and let the seppo do his thing, nosing it through the foot of new snow that had accumulated in the night. Or earlier in the night, anyway, as the sun still hadn't shown up.

They didn't talk, though. What the hell was there to say?

It wasn't a long drive, but it seemed to take forever, what with the silence weighing so heavily between them. Raleigh Becket. Of all the people to be kidnapped by in the middle of fucking nowhere Alaska. Raleigh Fucking Becket. If he didn't still have the dogtags in his pocket, he wouldn't believe it.

The Becket brothers had been allstars before the PPDC backed out of the limelight and covert ops turned the newly defunct piloting corps into the more circumspect jaeger program. But for all their fame, Chuck had never actually seen either of them. Publicity shots were always done with their helmets on, and if the visors were up, the grinning pair always wore sunglasses.

Too bad. If they hadn't been such tools about not showing their faces for whatever reason, Chuck would have recognized the fucking septic back at the convenience store, and none of this would have happened.

Not that all of it had been so bad.

Shaking his head, he scowled and crossed his arms as the seppo pulled the truck into the parking lot of what looked like nothing more than a rundown warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. There were a few other cars scattered across the lot, but otherwise, the place looked abandoned.

"Where the fuck are we?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Chuck turned to glare at the fuckwit, only to find the fuckwit glaring at him.

"What?"

Raleigh frowned. "I can trust you, right?"

Roughly a hundred snarks jumped onto his tongue, but, with effort, Chuck held them back. This wasn't the time.

"Yeah."

"Chuck, you can't tell the PPDC about this place."

His eyes narrowed. "Seriously, mate. Where the fuck are we?"

Sighing, the seppo shook his head and shoved open the balky driver's side door, wincing as he no doubt hurt his wounded arm. "The Alaskan arm of Hannibal Chau's black market hospital network."

While Chuck's jaw dropped, Raleigh scooted out of the truck and headed for the building, only stopping when he realized Chuck hadn't followed. Simply put, Chuck was no longer sure he wanted to see whatever proof ol' Cap thought he had.

Hannibal Chau was fucking mental. Hannibal Chau was rumored to have backdoor deals with the goddamn Kaiju Underground. Hannibal Chau was also rumored to have dossiers on every single jaeger team, dead or alive. And Hannibal Chau was _fucking mental_.

Fucking Becket only raised his eyebrows impatiently. "You coming?"

"Fuck my life."

He clambered down out of the truck and followed, head down and hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, half-expecting to get sniped before he even got to the door. Becket shot him a frown but led the way into a nondescript side door.

Once inside, Chuck couldn't help but gape. What had looked like a rundown, abandoned warehouse on the outside was a gleaming, modern, fully-functioning hospital on the inside. Nurses in scrubs bustled about. Doctors in white coats consulted behind a polished sweep of counter. Comfortably upholstered chairs dotted the waiting area where a few people sat, reading newspapers or books or watching any of the four flatscreens mounted in the corners of the room.

This place wasn't black market. This place was the fucking Hilton of hospitals.

Raleigh lightly took his upper arm to get him moving, then let him go when he followed of his own volition. They stepped up to the counter, and Raleigh managed a small but genuine smile at the administrative-looking woman sitting there.

"Mr. Becket, so good to see you again."

Only when the seppo deposited the bag of cash on the counter did Chuck even realize he'd brought it along, and a sadly belated lightbulb went off in his head. Raleigh Becket had been dishonorably discharged for negligence and unseemly recklessness after Yancy's death, which meant no pension, no medals, no benefits.

Suddenly, Chuck felt like the biggest gaping asshole on the face of the planet. He didn't think he needed proof, after all. Yancy Becket was alive, because Raleigh had been hitting convenience stores to pay for his brother's medical care while doing everything in his power to see that no one got hurt in the mix.

And if Raleigh hadn't lied about Yancy being alive, he probably hadn't lied about the UN lying about the cause of the disaster. Which meant the UN had royally fucked the Becket brothers and left them swinging in the wind. Which meant Chuck had completely fucked up with his childish feeling of betrayal and his dumb fucking assumptions and accusations.

A small, selfish part of him hoped that, somehow, it was all still true. Otherwise, Chuck wasn't sure he could ever make up for what he'd said.

_"You're the fucking septic that killed your brother."_

Feeling sick, he fidgeted as Raleigh completed the transaction and solemnly promised to visit the children's wing when he was done taking care of his brother. Of fucking course.

Every step further into the illegal but impressive hospital was another twist of the knife in Chuck's chest. How had the PPDC stood by and allowed something like this to happen? And why? Could the same thing have happened to Herc and Chuck?

He was dismayed to discover that he was pretty fucking sure of that answer.

And when Raleigh eventually slowed, turned to step into one of the spacious, well-appointed hospital rooms, and walked over to stand beside the slightly elevated head of the bed, Chuck wasn't surprised to see that the chart at the foot of the bed read **BECKET, YANCY** in easy-to-read bold print, all caps. Any possible remaining doubt -- not that there was any -- would have been laid to rest by the obvious resemblance between the silent, pale, horribly scarred man on the bed and the silent, pale, horribly scarred man standing beside it.

Yancy Becket was alive. Raleigh Becket hadn't lied.

And Chuck... well, Chuck sat down hard on the floor because there wasn't a goddamn chair handy and his knees just stopped holding him up.


	8. Chapter 8

"What do you mean, the Jeep wasn't LoJacked?" Herc pinched the bridge of his nose and mentally counted to ten. "Tendo, why is there even a single vehicle in this building that can just drive off untraced?"

"This Shatterdome was only reopened two weeks ago, sir, and had been closed for five years. We only started requiring a LoJack on all vehicles when we went covert."

Of course Tendo had a reasonable answer. Herc just didn't want to hear it. If Chuck had survived all those years of black ops only to be killed in fucking Alaska in a fucking robbery gone wrong, Herc wasn't sure what he would do.

Because this was fucking Alaska, official reports of the robbery were pretty thin on the ground. Between the remote location and the shitty weather, only one local paper had even covered the story, and in Tendo's expert opinion, the one-column article buried back on page five was about one part fact to six parts whatever.

"Sir, may I speak to you for a moment?"

Sighing, he waved Tendo away and turned his attention to Mako, who looked... oddly red-cheeked and windblown. "You all right, then, Miss Mori?"

She ducked her head, polite and calm as always, and Herc felt some of his irritation fade. Mako just had that effect on people.

"Fine, sir. I... went to the store." She peeked up through her lashes as if she feared he would berate her for doing something without orders or permission, but Herc only nodded and leaned forward, suddenly interested. "The manager was kind enough to give me the clerk's name and address, and I spoke to him personally."

She removed a sheet of paper from a small stack on top of the notebook she almost always carried and handed it to him. He sat back on his "new" desk and studied the printed out picture of a random kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old and covered with acne.

"That is Gerald Porter, the clerk. He was studying for his history final next week when Chuck stepped up to the counter with a bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and a Toblerone bar." She looked down to check her notes. "He also requested a pack of Marlboro Reds and produced an ID of some sort when prompted."

Herc's jaw twitched. They'd talked about the smoking. He could almost swear Chuck only did it to piss him off.

"When Mr. Porter turned back to the customer, he saw another customer come up behind Chuck. This other customer had been in the store for about twenty minutes and had said he was waiting for a friend to pick him up. Moments before, he had asked for the key to the bathroom."

Mako handed over another sheet of paper, this one a sketch.

"Mr. Porter described the man as about six feet in height, perhaps a hundred eighty pounds, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. No visible scars. I did the best I could, but it's been a while since I sketched from a description. The boy said this was a fairly accurate drawing."

His eyebrows shot up, but Mako was already moving on. Was there anything she couldn't do?

And damn if the bloke didn't look a bit familiar.

"The man came up behind Chuck, prodded a gun -- Mr. Porter didn't actually see the weapon, so I couldn't get an idea of its make -- into Chuck's back, and wrapped an arm around his throat."

None of this was in the bloody useless newspaper article, and Herc suddenly wanted to wrap Miss Mori in a bear hug. If she ever wanted an assignment while he was in charge, she would never have to ask twice. The woman was a wonder.

"Mr. Porter repeated several times that the gunman kept saying that no one would get hurt. It seemed very important to him that I get that detail down."

If Mako thought it was important, Herc considered it duly fucking noted.

"The man asked for Mr. Porter to empty the till and the safe, waited patiently while he did so, and even told Chuck to put his as-yet-unpaid-for candy in the bag because it was 'on the house tonight'. Chuck did so."

Mako paused, and to Herc's surprise, seemed to be suppressing a grin.

"Apparently, he was very vocal while he did so."

And damn if Herc wasn't suddenly trying not to grin, too, despite the knots in his stomach.

Then, it was back to all business. "The two were headed for the door, and Mr. Porter distinctly heard the gunman tell Chuck they would 'bid a fond farewell' outside." She glanced up, her dark eyes meeting Herc's for a moment before she went back to her notes. "Then, a police car pulled into the parking lot. Mr. Porter vehemently denies tripping any kind of silent alarm, so the officer was likely only there for personal reasons."

Coffee and donuts, Herc thought but didn't say.

"When the gunman saw the police car, he became annoyed but not frantic. Then, he told Mr. Porter to get down behind the counter and stay away from the glass, no matter what."

Again, she met Herc's eyes, as if trying to pass on some kind of message. He noted that she thought the detail was important, but he didn't want to start guessing about intentions until he knew the whole story, and it sounded like this was about where the whole thing went tits up.

"After that, Mr. Porter could only tell me what he heard, which was the gunman being very calm, Chuck being... very vocal, and the officer sounding very upset." She looked up again. "Sir, it doesn't sound like either Chuck or the gunman did anything to prompt the first shot."

Now, some of her intent looks started to make sense. She was saying that, if Chuck had been injured, it hadn't been the gunman doing the shooting.

What she didn't seem to get was that there wouldn't have been any shooting at all if not for the fucking gunman.

"Mr. Porter finished by saying that all he heard after the gunshots started was a grunt, the officer shouting, a vehicle's engine gunning, and seconds later, squealing tires. He never even saw the officer, though he did hear the man eventually call in the armed robbery and hostage situation."

Miss Mori had found out more in an hour than he and Tendo had been able to discover the whole damn morning, but he wasn't about to feel jealous. In fact, he was again tempted to bearhug her.

"Do they have any leads?"

Her polite, neutral expression fell a bit. "I'm sorry, sir, but no. They aren't even sure which way the vehicle went. The officer's report didn't even list it as a Jeep but as an SUV, and Mr. Porter never saw it at all."

He rubbed his temples, frustrated and, yes, more than a little worried. Chuck could handle himself, but if he'd been even accidentally shot in some dipshit's failed robbery, would said dipshit bother plugging the hole? Or would the fucker just dump the body and drive off in the conveniently non-LoJacked Jeep, whistling fucking Dixie all the way?

"Tendo!"

Miss Mori jumped a little at the sudden shout, but Herc didn't apologize. Tendo magically appeared at the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"Can you get me the exact coordinates of the last ping on Chuck's cell and put it on a map for me?"

"On it."

Herc turned his attention to Mako and let her see his worry for his son. She and Chuck hadn't always seen eye to eye, but with Herc and Stacker being old military friends, the two had sort of grown up in the same gestalt.

"I'm going after him. Even if I have to put my nose to the ground and sniff his trail." He lowered his eyes, unable to watch her expression when he asked his favor. "Miss Mori, would you be so kind as to--"

"Of course, sir. We can leave whenever you're ready."

This time, Herc didn't bother resisting the bearhug urge.


	9. Chapter 9

"We flew a mission with your dad and your uncle once."

Weary and disheartened, Chuck watched in silence as Raleigh dabbed his unconscious brother's dry, cracked lips with a glycerine swab. He was beyond surprise at this point.

"It was a three-rig formation, maybe six years ago. They were in Lucky Seven. Me and Yance were in Gipsy, of course. God, we loved that rig. She was our girl, ya know?" The seppo smiled softly and gently wiped at a bit of mucus that had leaked around the airhose up Yancy's nose. "I can't remember the other crew -- just that their rig was called Horizon Brave. Had a nice ring to it."

Chuck remembered that run. Rather, he remembered his father telling him about it.

"Somehow, I never actually got to meet him face to face, though we talked plenty of trash over the comm. I think Yance might have met him, but he never said for sure."

Every touch was incredibly gentle, every move slow and careful. Even just pulling back the thin blanket to expose Yancy's wrecked torso for a sponge bath was a methodical, careful movement. Raleigh tested the water temperature again, then squeezed most of the water out of the sponge and gently lifted his brother's wasted left arm.

"Raleigh... what happened?"

Because the older Becket looked like he'd been dragged through a farm combine. Twice.

"Drone got us." He washed between each finger, made sure to cleanse the crook of the elbow, dabbed carefully at a particularly deep scar that looked like an actual hunk of flesh had just been scooped out. "Codename: Knifehead. We had a helluva dogfight, but we were down to less than half our ammo and we just couldn't take the fucker down."

Chuck swallowed awkwardly, feeling sick as Raleigh patiently rinsed the sponge and squeezed out the excess water, then went back to his task.

"Even then, the drones were getting better. It hid in a cloud front, then dropped under the cover and peppered the right side. I finally emptied the clip into the bastard, but the blowout was close enough that wreckage ripped into the right wing and shattered our canopy as it went by." His quiet, soothing tone never changed as he spoke and bathed, bathed and spoke. "Somehow, Yancy got hooked on something and was yanked almost completely out of the cockpit. His leg got twisted up under a chunk of shrapnel, or he'd have really been gone."

God, he didn't want to hear this.

"I had to listen to him scream as the wing shredded and ripped at him. I couldn't even reach back to help because it took everything I had just to keep Gipsy from rolling. I knew if we started into a spin, we were all fucked. So I listened to him scream over the comm for seven minutes and forty-three seconds as I tried to find someplace to crash us without just plain crashing." Though his hands had begun to shake, Raleigh never lost that gentle touch as he sponged over the ruined chest. "And when he stopped screaming, I wished with everything in me that he'd start up again because I thought...."

"Fuck, Rals."

Jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder he wasn't breaking teeth, Raleigh shook his head and grimly went on, his tone even softer than before.

"I brought us down on the left side. If he was still alive, coming down on the right would have turned him into hamburger. Even though Gipsy kept trying to roll right, I made her heel over left."

Chuck's throat ached from the nausea and all the hard swallowing. "You paid for it."

"Not enou-- hey, Yance."

At first, Chuck wondered if Raleigh had become so lost in his nightmare of a past that he'd slipped out of the present entirely. Then, he realized the eyes that had been closed the entire hour they'd been here had slit to show a gleaming line of blue.

"Did I hit a ticklish spot?"

Raleigh's smile was warm and full of gentle teasing, and it hurt Chuck's heart to see it. Yancy swallowed and winced, and Raleigh immediately put aside the sponge and grabbed the giant bottle of ice water from the handy tray. He adjusted the bendy straw and put it carefully between his big brother's cracked lips, and Chuck had to look away.

How the fuck could something like this happen? Not only was Yancy not dead, but the poor fucker wasn't even in a coma and blissfully unaware of his condition.

"Better?"

Yancy nodded. Nothing but his head moved. God, why?

"I was just telling Chuck here about you. Remember when you stole Naomi Sokolov out from under my nose?" The words held no malice, and Raleigh went right back to the sponge bath when he was sure Yancy had drunk his fill. "I gotta admit, she probably picked the better brother in the end. What the hell would I have done with a woman like that?"

"Dammit, kid...."

Chuck's eyes widened. Fuck. Not only was Yancy alive and not in a fucking coma, but he could speak and understand, too. God, could this get any worse?

"Do you wanna sit up a bit and meet Herc Hansen's kid?"

It occurred to him suddenly that he hadn't told Raleigh who he was. He started to ask for -- probably demand -- an explanation, then closed his eyes and shook his head. He'd thought Raleigh's reaction to his military ID was just because of the pilot class listed, but the bastard had seen his name, too, and known exactly who he was.

And had probably known even then that Herc and Chuck both were still with the PPDC. Fuck, no wonder he'd looked like someone had kicked him right in the lungs.

What a complete fucking mess.

But Yancy had apparently agreed to sit up a bit, and Raleigh pushed the button to lift the head of the bed while continually making minute adjustments to the pillows and ensuring that his brother didn't shift or slide. So careful. So gentle.

Yancy didn't smile -- maybe couldn't, what with all the scars up his neck and over his jaw -- but his eyes seemed to brighten with... interest?... at the new visitor. "Baby Hansen?"

Heat flared in his neck and cheeks, but he didn't voice his flustered irritation as he stood up to make himself easier to see. "Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you, Becket."

He didn't offer to shake hands. In fact, he kept his hands safely tucked into his fatigue pockets, just in case he was a complete fucking idiot. Always a possibility.

"Look like your dad." Yancy's voice was weak and hoarse, but the words were clear.

He grinned a little. "I get that a lot."

And just like that, Yancy faded, his eyes closing and his head lolling to one side. Raleigh didn't seem surprised but simply trundled the bed back down to its former level and went back to the sponge bath like nothing had happened.

Chuck felt his heart break a little more.

"He keeps having seizures." And still, that soothing, soft tone and that gentle touch. "He needs some kind of surgery that I can't even begin to pronounce, but while Chau is a fucking miracle worker, even he can't swing a neurosurgeon."

His voice as dry and hoarse as Yancy's had been, Chuck asked the ultimate question. "How long?"

Raleigh's jaw tightened, but his voice never wavered. "Maybe a year, if I can keep paying for the anti-seizure meds."

Chuck sank back down into the armchair and covered his eyes with one hand, clenching the other on the arm of the chair. "Why the ever-loving fuck did the PPDC say he was dead, Rals?"

"They didn't. The UN did." Raleigh shrugged and moved around to the other side of the bed to bathe the other side. "Everyone was so freaked out that the F-27s had suddenly lost that the UN tried to kinda sideline the reports and hush it all over." His jaw tightened again. "When it was pretty fucking clear that Yance was never getting out of a hospital bed again, they had the medical staff label him brain dead and wanted to pull the plug."

This time, Chuck's jaw tightened, too.

"I went to Chau for help, and we snuck him out and brought him here. Don't ask what I agreed to do in return, because I'm taking that to my grave." Indeed, Raleigh's eyes had gone dark and blank, and he had to actually stop the sponge bath for a minute to regain his bearings.

Chuck let the silence grow until the poor bloke went back to work. Even then, he hesitated to ask any of his questions for fear of ruining that gentle touch.

Eventually, Raleigh went on in his soothing tone. "You heard him. He can talk. He can _think_. He's not brain dead." Those blue eyes sparkled for a moment before Raleigh shut them and swallowed hard. "What would you have done?"

"The same, of course." He shrugged. "Might have firebombed the Shatterdome for good measure. Especially the med bay. Who the fuck signs off on something like that?"

Finally finished, Raleigh tucked his ruined older brother back under clean hospital sheets and put aside the tub of water, then fixed Chuck with an intent look.

"You can't tell the PPDC he's here."

He wanted to tell Raleigh that the UN had cut off their funding, essentially leaving the PPDC swinging in the breeze but also meaning that they no longer had to answer to that bunch of fucking sadists, but he couldn't. Raleigh didn't need reason or logic right now. He needed reassurance.

"I won't. I swear."

Not breaking eye contact, Raleigh dipped his head in a slight nod. "Thank you."

Chuck did the same. "Welcome."

At that, the tiniest hint of a grin quirked the corner of the seppo's mouth. "Wanna visit the kids with me?"

He grunted. "Do I have to?"

The hint of a grin gained its footing and grew. "What else do you have to do today?"

Chuck snorted. "Fuck you, Becket."


	10. Chapter 10

Herc hadn't lost faith when Chuck's last automatic ping location had turned out to be a rutted two-lane road in the middle of nowhere. He simply dug around a bit in the snow on either side of the road to see if he could find the phone -- unlikely, given that the drifts in the ditches were easily waist-high. In the back of his mind, he half-expected to find Chuck himself, but he refused to think about what he'd do if, God forbid, that actually happened.

When he was relatively sure that anything left behind wouldn't be discovered until midsummer, when all of the snow might actually thaw off, he made the logical choice of driving the opposite direction from the store until the road emptied out onto a major throughway. Even there, he hadn't lost faith. He and Mako agreed to pick a direction, stopping and asking at the nearest signs of civilization if anyone had seen a late model Jeep, much like the one he was in, driving by late the previous night. The negative temperatures and frigid wind had been brutal enough to keep most people at home, even in Alaska, so it was possible someone actually had noticed a random vehicle driving by.

In fact, Herc didn't lose hope even when no one for twenty miles in the first direction could recall seeing anything out of the ordinary. He simply turned them around and headed the opposite direction and followed the same protocol.

Mako was a rock. She had such a pleasant, polite way about her that people opened right up to her, and they struck moderate paydirt on their third stop along this new route. The waitress at the greasy old trucker diner agreed that, yes, sometime after eleven o'clock last night, she was pretty sure she'd seen a Jeep or an SUV of some sort drive by. She'd only noticed because one of the truckers -- who had, unfortunately, already left, taking advantage of the few daylight hours -- had shaken his head and said something about people who ought to know better than to piss in Mother Nature's eye on a night like that.

Unfortunately, the diner was set just far enough back from the road that the waitress hadn't been able to see if the Jeep or SUV had contained one or two people.

Undaunted, Herc and Mako headed off in the direction the waitress pointed out. The road dead-ended in another road, and again, they simply chose a direction and tried that way for a dozen or so miles in hopes of someone having seen the rogue Jeep. This time, they picked the right direction right out of the box.

Their luck continued into the afternoon until it suddenly petered out when the latest road seemed to stretch into infinity without anyone having seen a damn thing. There were no diners out here, no gas stations. The road was barely even still a two-lane, and it seemed to do little more than split through the endless wilderness of trees.

Herc finally started to wonder what he would do if this didn't pan out. What the hell was his next step? How could he find hyper-secret Kaiju temples halfway across the world, but he couldn't find his own damn son in the same damn state?

Eventually, just as he was about to give up and go back the way they'd come, vaguely thinking that maybe they'd try the opposite direction again but go a little further this time, Mako sat forward and pointed.

"Is that a driveway?"

For the moment, all Herc could make out was a break in the trees, but he counted that a plus, since it was the first one he'd seen in a good ten minutes. He slowed and pulled in, instantly noticing a fresh set of tire tracks cutting through an older, snowed-over set, likely from the night before. It might not mean anything, but... it might mean everything. Someone had been here, anyway.

He edged the Jeep further into the gloom caused by the veritable canopy of interlacing branches and boughs overhead, wincing as they scraped the Jeep's top and sides. It was a long driveway, if that's what it was, and he felt his jaw ache from how long he'd been clenching it.

The trees finally pulled back to expose a clearing and, glory be, a fucking regulation-green Jeep pulled up catty-corner to what couldn't be a livable house.

Herc was out of his own Jeep so fast he wasn't sure he'd bothered to put it in park. He yanked open the driver's side door of his son's ride so hard he nearly ripped it off the hinges, and all he could see in that first moment was a large quantity of blood smearing down the left side of the passenger seat and a few wads of bloody white tissue or gauze in the passenger side floorboard. His heart jumped into his throat and seemed to strangle him.

Mako -- God bless her -- opened the passenger side, caught sight of Herc's expression, and quickly said, "Whoever was wounded clearly received at least basic first aid, sir. This is not a fatal amount of blood."

She was right. He knew that. Forcing himself to take three deep breaths and look around with a jaeger's eye instead of a father's, he realized that, yes, there was blood, but definitely not that much. His calmer focus made out two alcohol wipes and an indeterminate stack of bloody gauze in the floorboard, an empty roll of nursing tape, and the backing to four butterfly clips. Interesting.

He wanted more than anything to type the blood on those toss-aways, but he wasn't sure if knowing it was Chuck's would help or hurt his sanity. Instead, he looked around for any other clues, came up empty, and pulled back out of the Jeep to stare warily at the wreck of a house just ahead.

Mako pointed down the side of the house toward a falling-over but open garage. She didn't have to say anything. The fresh set of tracks came right out of the garage, so there had clearly been another vehicle that was now gone. It wasn't likely that anyone was home.

It was, however, remotely possible that the asshole who had kidnapped Chuck had left alone, leaving Chuck behind.

Without a word, he waded through the snow, some of which had drifted thigh-deep, to the drunken porch and kicked the door in without bothering to see if it was locked or not. "Chuck!"

Silence. Swirling dust from the sudden disturbance. More silence.

"Chuck! Dammit, kid, answer me!"

Mako squeezed past him into the house, and, as one, they moved down the hallway and into the shitty, dank little kitchen. On the table was an open bag of peanut butter cups, about half of them gone.

"Dammit, kid." His voice was a whisper, but in the deafening silence, it sounded loud.

A thorough search of the house showed very little sign of habitation and absolutely no sign of Chuck. A set of blankets was folded neatly on the couch and there had clearly been a fire in the fireplace recently, but otherwise, it looked like whoever lived here pretty much only used the kitchen and master bedroom.

He regrouped with Mako in the dingy little kitchen, starting to feel a bit desperate. She took one look at his expression and squared her shoulders.

"We talk to the nearest neighbor. We know there is no one the way we came, so we keep going east until we find another driveway."

"Mori, you're a genius."

She smiled a bit, her patient, placid expression warming more than the small change warranted. "It's nice to hear that now and again."

Impossibly, he grinned, then followed her from the wreck of a house that he wasn't even sure Chuck had lived to see. Showing more patience than he thought he possessed, he finagled the Jeep around through the deep drifts and headed back down the driveway they'd just come up. Barely a half-mile down the road was another break in the trees, and he swung into what he sincerely hoped was another driveway with his heart throbbing in his chest.

God, he hoped someone was home.

Thankfully, he didn't have to suffer as he pulled up to a much more hospitable house and parked. A squatty, round bloke in a thick duffel coat and a hat with furred earflaps looked up from the wood he was chopping and waved, grinning brightly. Herc and Mako exchanged a look, then, as one, climbed down out of the Jeep.

"Afternoon, strangers! What can I do for ya?"

Herc didn't even open his mouth. This was definitely Miss Mori's area of expertise.

"I was wondering if you know where we can find your neighbor down the road." She pointed back the way they'd come, smiling with a seemingly eternal well of inner peace. "We stopped there, but he isn't home."

"Who, Raleigh?" The man scrubbed his gloved hand over his stubbly chin and leaned against the handle of his axe. "Can't say I've seen him for a couple of days. I gave him a ride into Anchorage day before yesterday and haven't seen him since."

Raleigh. The name rang a bell, but a very faint one. It wasn't enough to pull him from his focus.

Mako sighed softly, looking regretful. "That is a shame. We've come a long way and very much wanted to see him."

The bloke grinned. "Yeah, Raleigh's good people. Fixed my truck last winter and saved my butt. Didn't charge me a dime. And when I was down in my back a couple of months back, he chopped me a whole truckload of wood and set it up right outside so I could get to it."

Herc's jaw tightened, and he hoped Mako didn't give him one of her prim little "that is important information" looks. Thankfully, she didn't. Yet.

"I don't suppose you have any idea where we might find him? Would he still be in Anchorage?"

The bloke shrugged. "Possible, but I sure thought he'd be back by now. He was just getting a part for his truck." He frowned, kicked at the packed snow at his feet, then shrugged. "Have you tried the hospital?"

This time, Herc and Mako's eyes met and widened, and Herc didn't care if the tubby little seppo saw it. As one, they asked the same question.

"What hospital?"


	11. Chapter 11

Raleigh Becket should have been a kindergarten teacher.

Chuck couldn't help but relax and watch with smirking amusement as the livelier of the brats in the children's wing crawled all over him, seeming to know that his left arm was off limits but nothing else was. And oh, how the laughter brightened those blue eyes and took years of weary sorrow off the handsome features.

How the hell was he supposed to resist something like that? Fuck, he didn't even try. He was in deep and he knew it. One fucking day, and he was in over his head.

The seppo even got the little wigglers to sit down in a circle and listen to a story when a nurse smilingly asked them to keep it down to a dull roar. And when Raleigh finally deemed it time to say goodbye, Chuck couldn't help melting even more when every single one of the brats demanded a hug and pressed child-sweet kisses to his cheeks.

"Raleigh, what happened to your lip?"

Chuck coughed, shoving his hands in his pockets, but Raleigh, the bastard, only grinned at the little girl looking at him so solemnly.

"I got in a fight." The grin went crooked. "You oughtta see the other guy."

The cheeky little ankle-biter shot Chuck a critical look, and he fought to keep from putting a hand over the swollen, bruised split in his eyebrow.

"What'd you fight about?"

But Raleigh only grinned again. "Nothing important, sweetheart. Go on, now. I'll be back next week."

Giving Chuck one more deeply disdainful look, the brat scampered off. Raleigh pushed to his feet and shot him a smirk.

"Throw me under the bus next time, Rals."

The jackass snorted, unrepentant. "What, you want me to lie to an eight-year-old?" One eyebrow rose. "And you've settled on Rals now, I take it?"

He felt heat creeping up his neck and willed himself not to blush. "Yeah, well, _Raaaaa_ leigh sounds stupid, and you didn't seem to care for Ray."

Broad shoulders shrugged. "It was kinda growing on me."

Eyes narrow, he reached out and elbowed the dipstick in the ribs. "Yeah, I'm a fungus like that."

Raleigh's lips twitched. "Fungi to be with."

Groaning, Chuck pressed his palm to his forehead. "Fuck, Ray, that was bloody awful. What are you, thirteen?"

"C'mon, fungus. I usually read to Yance for an hour or two before I go. Sometimes, he wakes up again if he's been up earlier."

They went back to Yancy's room, and Chuck finally noticed the stack of thick hardbacks piled on the tray next to the giant ice water bottle. The missing teeth from the bookcase corpse in the study, he presumed. Tipping his head he read the titles aloud.

" _The Odyssey. The Iliad. The Aeneid_. Fucking _Beowulf?_ " He shot Raleigh an incredulous look. "Weren't you just reading Dr. Seuss to a bunch of primary schoolers?"

Ol' Cap shrugged, a hint of amusement still lurking on his face and in his eyes. "Are you saying _The Cat in the Hat_ isn't a classic?"

He rolled his eyes and hauled his chair around to the other side of the bed so he could watch both Yancy and Raleigh as he read. "Useless to argue with a fucking septic."

"Whatever, fungus."

They settled into their surprisingly comfortable chairs, and Chuck soon felt himself pleasantly zoning out from the soothing cadence of Raleigh's voice. The story itself didn't particularly interest him, but he'd have listened to Raleigh read stereo instructions and been just as content. The bloke didn't stutter on big words or trip over tricky grammar, and a sweet sort of drowsiness stole over the room until Chuck almost forgot where they were and why.

Unfortunately, after God only knew how long, Raleigh's stomach started growling, and Chuck abruptly realized that the poor sod hadn't eaten all day. Nor had he drunk enough to replace the blood loss from the night before. Dammit. It was a wonder the dumbass hadn't passed out again.

"This place got a cafeteria?"

Blinking, Raleigh looked up from the book as if he'd forgotten anyone else was there. Chuck shook his head fondly. The whacker probably hadn't even noticed his own discomfort.

"Hm?"

"Food. Your stomach's growling."

"Oh." Suddenly looking sleepy as hell, Raleigh stretched and stood. "Yeah, it's... uh... I'll just show you."

"No, no, keep reading, mate." He waved the seppo back to his seat. "Just tell me where to go. Dinner's on me tonight."

Becket quirked a wry grin. "Head for the nurses' desk and take a left. Down the hall, down the stairs, and follow the signs. You can't miss it."

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "I can get kidnapped by a fuckwit with a candybar, Ray."

Said fuckwit laughed outright. "Maybe I should draw a map on your hand, then."

Pleased with himself, Chuck smirked and walked out of the room, tossing a "Fuck you, mate" back over his shoulder. He didn't think the poor sod had smiled or laughed much in the last five years, and he couldn't help but want to change that. He knew he was usually an asshole, but he wasn't completely devoid of charm and wit, and it felt... good... to make Raleigh laugh. To watch features that had been prematurely aged by grief and worry and a nightmare past lighten with amusement and warmth.

Yeah. He could definitely make a habit out of making Raleigh Becket smile. Fuck, he just wanted to help somehow. If he hadn't promised not to tell the PPDC about any of this, he'd have already been on the phone with his dad, figuring out some way to at least _start_ paying the Beckets back for the five years of hell they'd been through.

He knew he couldn't hang around here forever. He had obligations. Important ones. Bigger than two sad blokes who had been chewed up and spit out by the very organization they'd nearly given their lives for. The entire fucking world needed him, whether they knew it or not, and he would do everything in his power to stop the Kaiju from whatever the hell they were up to.

But for right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he just wanted to bring the strangely endearing galah that had sort of abducted him some shitty cafeteria food and listen to him read Greek myths to the miraculously living brother he so loved.

Everything else could wait.


	12. Chapter 12

Herc refused to believe the neighbor bloke would have lied to them, but this did not look like a hospital.

Mako seemed unfazed as she climbed out of the Jeep and straightened her coat. The afternoon was mostly gone, and the temperature had dropped sharply in the last half hour, but Herc barely noticed the biting chill as he followed her lead. If Chuck was here....

Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought. Maybe this Raleigh fucker had been legitimately concerned, as Mako kept insinuating, and had brought Chuck here for medical attention after accidentally getting him shot. That wouldn't stop Herc from stomping a mudhole in the wanker's ass, but it would stop him from straight up murdering him. Probably.

"Sir?"

Mako had stopped just outside the nondescript door that seemed the only entry on this side of the building. Her placid, sweet face seemed pensive as she looked back at him.

"Yeah?"

She inhaled slowly. "This place is full of innocent ill or wounded people, and the staff will not be as willing to direct us as everyone else so far." She paused, her lips tightening as she seemed to weigh her words for a moment. "We cannot expect help finding Chuck if... you cannot control your expression."

If he wasn't so het up, he could laugh at how reluctant she'd been to speak her mind when she clearly feared he wouldn't appreciate the input. Since he hadn't been further from laughing since the day his wife died, he only nodded shortly, closed his eyes, and took five deep breaths, calming himself. Chuck was the arrogant jackass who couldn't control his temper, not Herc.

Of course, the little bastard had probably learned it somewhere.

When he felt more in command of himself, he gave Mako another short nod and submitted to her critical apparaisal. Apparently, he had rid himself of the worst of the thundercloud he'd felt forming over his head because she opened the door and walked inside without another word. Herc followed, then stopped cold at the look of the place.

Now _this_ looked like a hospital.

Again, Mako seemed undaunted and looked around with more acuity and less stymie. Her tranquil gaze lingered on the check-in counter, but she seemed to think better of approaching it and looked overhead at the signs dangling from the ceiling instead.

"I think he wouldn't need intensive care, and if they're still here, they wouldn't still be in the emergency room." She pursed her lips and tilted her head to look up at him. "Patient rooms?"

Herc shrugged, trying to keep his expression neutral, so she headed toward the hallway designated by the arrows overhead. The patient rooms took up an entire quarter of the building, and he doubted they could conduct an actual room-by-room search, but they could at least casually peek into the rooms they passed and glance at the charts outside any closed doors. So long as they weren't too obvious about it, they shouldn't be hassled.

But it wasn't easy not to just grab the nearest bloke in scrubs and demand the bastard take him to his son.

And when they turned a corner and saw the face from Mako's sketch -- a distant part of Herc's mind acknowledged that she was, indeed, a genius because the fucker looked exactly like the drawing -- he didn't think twice but _lunged_.

Blue eyes widened with panic. "Oh, shit--"

Herc's right hand cut off whatever else the fucking wanker might have said by clamping onto his throat. He fisted his left hand in the fucker's sweater, twisted, and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle the tasteful picture of a flowering meadow hanging a meter or so away.

"Where is he?"

The useless fuck worked his mouth, but no sound came out. Herc pulled him forward, then slammed him against the wall again, knocking the back of his head off the plaster.

" _Where's my son??_ "

"Sir--"

He lowered his voice to a deadly thrum and jerked the fucker close enough that their noses touched. "If you don't tell me where he is right this fucking second, _I will end you_. Do you understand me?"

"Dad, what the fuck?"

The fight ran out of him, but he didn't loosen his grip in the slightest as he jerked his head toward the familiar voice. His breath sighed out on his son's name.

"Oi, let him go, for Chrissake!"

He tried again, aiming for enough volume to be heard this time. "Chuck...."

"Dad, seriously, he can't fucking breathe! Let him go!"

Chuck strode forward, seemingly unharmed, his hands full of an overloaded tray and his face twisted in anger. Chuck. Unharmed.

Against his will, Herc's grip loosened enough that the wanker was able to suck in a harsh breath.

"Hold this." Without breaking stride, Chuck thrust the tray into Mako's hands, then reached out and grabbed Herc by the shoulder. "You've got it all wrong, old man. Let him go."

Herc looked him up and down as if he hadn't seen his son in a year. "You're... you're alright, yeah?"

"I'm bloody fine. Let him go."

"Sir, perhaps it would be wise to do as he says."

Gritting his teeth and refusing to give into Mako's calm tone, he jerked his attention back to the maggot on the wall, irritated to realize the bastard looked about as threatening as golden retriever puppy. "Chuck, this fucker damn near got you killed."

Chuck's grip on his shoulder tightened enough to hurt, and the brat had the nerve to try to manhandle him away. "No, this fucker took a bullet for me and saved my ass. Now, let... him... _go!_ "

Then, the little bastard fought dirty, digging his fingers into a pressure point until Herc's arm lost strength and fell away from the wanker's neck. To his shock, Chuck then threw himself between them and pushed Herc away, his back to the bastard who'd taken him hostage.

"Chuck, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Face red and eyes flashing, Chuck snorted. "You never fucking listen, do you, old man? I told you: Raleigh didn't do a goddamn thing but come between me and a bullet. You really gonna strangle a bloke for that?"

Blinking, he rubbed at his shoulder and scowled. "He took you hostage at gunpoint. Or did you forget about that?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and, oddly enough, dug in the flap pocket on the side of his thigh. After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a small package and tossed it at Herc, his face redder still but his expression... less hostile?

"There's your gunpoint, Dad."

Herc caught the package reflexively, but when he looked down at it, he couldn't seem to make sense of it. What the fuck did a Butterfinger have to do with anything? Bewildered to the point that his fury fizzled, he blinked at his son and silently demanded an explanation.

Chuck cleared his throat and looked at the floor. "That's what he jabbed in my back."

Mako let out a soft chuckle, but quickly adjusted her expression when both Herc and Chuck glared at her. Appalled, Herc returned his attention to the blushing, twitching fuckwit standing between him and the fuck-up who had started this whole mess.

"You were kidnapped... by a fucking puppy with a goddamn candybar?"

"Oi, fuck. You're really gonna make me repeat it?"

Completely flummoxed, Herc looked from the Butterfinger to his excruciatingly embarrassed son to the wanker trying to regain his breath to Mako, whose deep well of tranquility sported a few ripples as she fought not to chuckle again.

"I think I need to sit down."

It struck him, then, that the situation really hadn't changed. This wanker had still endangered his son by involving him in a petty theft gone wrong. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to work up quite as much rage as before he realized his idiot of an offspring had allowed himself to be fooled by fucking snack food. And hadn't actually been harmed.

"Look, that's besides the point. He was still robbing a store, and he still involved you in it. Whether he took the bullet or not, you could have been shot, and it's bloody well his fault."

Some of the red faded out of Chuck's face, and he shrugged. "He had good reason."

But at that, the wanker jerked away from the wall and put a hand on Chuck's arm, and that was enough to bring the protective rage back. Herc's fists clenched.

"Chuck, don't."

The brat didn't fight the grip on his arm but didn't budge, either. "Ray, he has to know. Look at him. He's ready to strangle you again."

"You promised."

Chuck shrugged, keeping a wary eye on Herc. "I promised I wouldn't tell the PPDC. I'm not. I'm telling my dad."

The wanker seemed to wilt. "Dammit, Chuck."

As Herc watched, his rage again washing out, his son turned to the bloke at his back and looked at him with concern and genuine affection.

"It'll be alright, Raleigh. Lead the way."

At that, the wanker managed a small smirk. "I knew it. You were lost, weren't you?"

And Chuck blustered... but didn't get angry. "Fuck off, mate. There was a line."

As if neither Herc nor Mako still existed, the two wandered off down the hall, bickering but without any real heat. Blinking and competely lost, Herc shot Mako a look, but she could only shrug carefully so as not to upset the tray she still carried.

So, they did the only thing they could do. They followed. The whole thing felt like a fever dream, like they might walk through a normal doorway and just float away like a balloon on a summer breeze.

In fact, Herc wasn't sure that wasn't exactly what happened when he stepped into the room his son had entered and saw the apparition on the bed. He had met Yancy Becket once, a lifetime ago in Manila. This was clearly the same man, but... dear God....

Chuck, his voice soft, did the introductions. "Dad, meet Yancy Becket and his brother, Raleigh."

His mouth worked for a long moment, his eyes riveted to the scarred, gaunt ghost lying on the hospital bed. It wasn't possible. He'd seen the reports. Hell, he'd gone to the funeral and had spoken out against the younger Becket's dishonorable discharge, arguing that the poor kid had suffered enough.

For the first time in his life, Herc Hansen feared he might actually pass out.

"I... I really think I need to sit down."

Chuck sighed. "Yeah, I did, too."

Every ounce of fight in him vanished, and he looked at the younger brother with... hell, he didn't even know. Apology? Pity, maybe?

"Tell me everything, yeah?"

It wasn't a threat but a plea. And... maybe the bloke wasn't so bad because he nodded and pulled over a chair for Herc to sit in. Grateful, Herc settled in.

It was a long, long story.


	13. Chapter 13

Chuck watched his father process the situation, his eyes occasionally shifting to eyeball Miss Mori, who sporadically jotted notes as Raleigh spoke. He wasn't surprised that his father had found him, but he _was_ surprised that Pentecost had let his fragile flower out of the hothouse.

Not that Mako had ever been fragile. He'd never admit it, but he was pretty sure she could take him in a fair fight.

Finally, Herc sighed heavily. "Raleigh, I am so sorry."

It occurred to Chuck that he hadn't yet said his own apologies to the bloke he'd accused of killing his own brother. He'd have to remember to do so, though now didn't seem to be the time.

"Dammit, kid, I... I don't even know what else to say."

Raleigh shrugged, uncomfortable and pale, bright red finger marks still pressed into his throat. "You didn't know. I probably would have done the same in your shoes."

Chuck didn't doubt it. If someone had kidnapped Yancy, the world would have burned before Raleigh gave him up. Smiling a little, he nudged the seppo with his foot and tilted his head at the tray Mako had placed near at hand. Raleigh rolled his eyes and started in on a sandwich.

After a moment's silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, Mako quietly spoke up.

"Sir, are you still open to suggestions?"

Chuck shot his old man a curious look, but Herc just shrugged.

"Dr. Geiszler is a neurosurgeon."

Raleigh stilled, but Chuck sat up so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. "Mori, you're a genius. Dad, you'll clear it, yeah?"

But Herc held up a hand, his eyes focused on Mako, who apparently wasn't finished. She shot Chuck an apologetic look and lowered her eyes to her notes.

"We are down to two teams, sir. Mr. Becket may not be a jaeger, but he was a member in good standing of the PPDC at the time of the incident. He should never have been discharged, let alone dishonorably discharged. He could be reinstated and absorbed into the jaeger program."

Oh, fuck.

Chuck looked at Raleigh, whose throat was so tight Chuck thought he might be choking. "That is not a good idea."

"With Mr. Becket's record cleared and with his brother proven alive and in need of the medical care he should have been receiving all along, no one in the PPDC would deny him the surgery he needs to survive."

Appalled, he shook his head. "No. _Fuck_ no. No way in hell is he getting within a mile of a military operation ever again. Not if I can help it. He's done his time, dammit."

"I'm in."

Three sets of eyes focused on Raleigh. The poor bloke swallowed hard at the sudden attention.

"I'll do it."

Chuck felt something in his chest twist painfully. "Ray, you can't be serious." Before the seppo could speak, Chuck went on. "Look, you don't know what you're getting into. She's talking about black ops missions and covert stings, not midair dogfights like you're used to. Things have changed, mate, and not for the better. It's... it's a fucking cold war, and we're not exactly winning."

The bastard shrugged, though his face had gone so pale he looked like a ghost. "I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Sir?"

Tearing his eyes off of Raleigh, Chuck looked at his old man in hopes of pleading for reason, but his protests died on his tongue. Herc looked gutshot, yes, but he also looked resigned.

"Permission granted, Miss Mori. God help me."

She didn't look thrilled, but she was nothing if not efficient. "Thank you, sir. I will make arrangements for the transfer. If I may be excused?"

Herc nodded, and she gathered up her notebook and coat and left the room. Chuck wanted to protest, wanted to shout at the two dumb fuckers who had just made the same stupid wrong decision until they took it back and everything went back to the way it was.

After everything Raleigh had already been through....

Finally, the fuckwit seppo sighed. "Thank you, sir."

Herc winced. "Don't thank me, Becket." He shook his head. "Chuck's right; we're in a fucking mess right now. The PPDC is on its last legs against a threat that doesn't seem to stop growing, and the UN has cut off our funding and basically washed their hands of us. You'd live a helluva lot longer if you walked away right now."

Raleigh shrugged. "Yancy wouldn't. Live longer, that is." He frowned and tilted his head to one side. "Or walk away, either."

This time, the silence seemed to ache, and Chuck wondered if he should have herded his father right out of the hospital instead of half-ass breaking his promise. He felt sorry for Yancy and all -- fuck, who wouldn't? -- but Yancy was a few seizures away from being a head of broccoli, and Raleigh most certainly wasn't. The idea putting him back into the service that had so royally fucked him over, back into the war that had already stolen so much from him, was intolerable.

It wasn't fucking fair. Hadn't the poor bastard already given the world enough?

Suddenly, Raleigh jerked to his feet and stood awkwardly. "Sir, with your permission, I'd like to go home and pack. I don't have much, but I hate to leave it behind."

Herc nodded wearily. "Go on, kid. You don't need directions to the Icebox, I reckon."

"No. I remember."

Ol' Cap started toward the door, and Chuck shoved to his feet, swiping his coat off the chair. "Wait up, Ray."

Herc's eyebrows shot up. "You're not riding with me?"

He felt heat creep up his neck, but he shrugged as casually as he could. "Gotta bring the Jeep back, yeah?"

Herc made a noncommittal noise. "Guess I'm supervising the transfer, then." Shrewd eyes moved from Chuck to Raleigh and back again. "I want you boys at the Shatterdome by 22:00."

Raleigh practically saluted. "Yessir."

Chuck just rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

He started out the door, then snapped his fingers and trotted back across the room for the four-pack of Gatorade he'd crammed into the corner of the food tray. On his way back out, he paused long enough to drop a hand to his father's shoulder and squeeze lightly. Herc smiled a bit and nodded.

It was enough. Not everything had to be said out loud.


	14. Chapter 14

"Did your dad kick in my door?"

Chuck sighed. "Probably."

"I'm lucky to be alive right now, aren't I?"

He shot a look at Raleigh, but the seppo was too busy easing the old truck into the garage. "That depends on what Mori's got in mind, I reckon."

"Mori?"

"Mako Mori. The little sheila that offered you the Devil's bargain."

Raleigh rolled his eyes, turned off the bleary headlights, and keyed off the ignition. "What would you have done?"

"Not the point, mate." Sighing, he climbed out of the truck and stretched. "The point is that you did your part and ought to be clear of it. Offering to fix your brother at the cost of dragging you back into a war you've already fought is a dick move, and I'm not gonna be happy about it."

"Maybe she has a plan."

"And maybe I could give a shit."

"Chuck...."

He shot the dumbass a glare but softened when he saw the little grin lurking on the tired face. "Yeah, alright, ya fucking septic. Just don't expect me to be all excited about it."

Apparently appeased, Becket left the garage and waited for Chuck to follow before finagling the rickety door down and twisting the lock. It occurred to him that the garage door hadn't been locked that morning.

Of course it hadn't. Raleigh had been planning on coming back the last time he left.

He clearly wasn't planning on coming back this time.

Gritting his teeth, he let the fuckwit plow ahead through the snow and followed in his wake. He shook his head ruefully at the front door's popped hinges and the damage to the frame, but Raleigh only shrugged with that little grin and shut it behind them as best he could. The sun was already long since gone and a low cloud cover obscured the moon, so it was dark in the little foyer, but neither of them bothered with the light. It was easier to just stand in the dark.

"I won't take long. Wanna make some coffee?"

Chuck grunted. "You're drinking another bottle of Gatorade if I have to sit on you and force it down your throat."

"Yes, Dad."

"Fuck off, Becket. Go make yourself useful."

The smirking jackass headed up the hallway toward the kitchen, but Chuck stayed in the foyer a moment longer. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough for him to look at the array of ghosts on the walls with new interest, if no less apprehension. This was Raleigh's life, and it was all but gone. In an appallingly short while, the poor bastard wouldn't even have this.

What had happened to the happy family with their snowball fights and their summer cookouts? Chuck tried to remember anything about the rest of the Beckets, but he had no memory of any family besides the two brothers. Had they already been alone when they joined the service?

Somehow, he didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to ask. Ol' Cap had thought enough about the past today to last the rest of his life.

Frowning, Chuck headed for the kitchen, where the lantern was already burning on the table. He heard Raleigh moving around in the bedroom, but he didn't seek him out. Instead, he grudgingly started a pot of coffee, then peeled the wrapper from a peanut butter cup while it brewed.

True to his word, Becket was packed and ready in a ridiculously short time. The seppo ambled into the kitchen in less than ten minutes with a military duffel slung over one shoulder and a smaller knapsack hitched over the other. Chuck was a little dismayed to realize that two measly bags' worth of stuff was probably all Raleigh owned in the world besides this haunted house and the ghosts on its walls.

"I turned off the furnace. Probably oughtta leave a trickle of water running in the tub or something, but with my luck, it'd flood over and freeze the whole place into a solid block of ice."

Chuck tried for a smirk and managed a crooked smile. "Might improve its stability."

Raleigh rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."

"Seriously?"

"Ugh. Let's just go. You can brief me on the way."

"Brief you on what?" Even as he spoke, he moved to unplug and rinse the coffee pot.

"On five years' worth of fighting the Kaiju Underground. It sounds like I've missed a lot. Might as well know what I'm getting into."

Shrugging, he grabbed up his bag of goodies while Raleigh blew out the lantern. "Mori'll probably do a better job than I could. I mean, I know my piece of it, yeah, but there's way more to it than me and Dad hunting down secret temples and taking out sect leaders every chance we get."

"Then tell me about you."

Chuck had started for the front door but, at that, he stopped in the hallway and shot the seppo a hard look in the dark. "What about me?"

He wished his eyes had adjusted enough to see Raleigh's expression. "What, you get to know my whole sordid history, but I don't get to know yours?"

He considered this for a long moment, then nodded and continued on down the hall. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"Gimme a sec. I need to see if I can do something about this door."

In the end, Raleigh settled for wedging the door into the frame against the hinges and gently setting the lock. A stiff wind would probably blow the damn thing in, and it was far from secure against a break-in, but it really didn't matter. Chuck figured locking the door was little more than a symbolic gesture at this point.

Grumbling under his breath, he dug his keys out of his pocket and climbed into the Jeep, waiting for Raleigh to stow his gear in the back seat before keying the ignition and flipping on the headlights.

"I probably should have wiped down the seat at some point." He grinned as the seppo eyed the blood smears with distaste before climbing in. "At least it's not still wet."

"I guess."

Wordlessly, Chuck pulled the last bottle of Gatorade from his coat pocket and held it out. Raleigh rolled his eyes and took it.

"And we're stopping somewhere to get you something to eat."

Another eyeroll. "I ate at the hospital."

"One sandwich. _Part_ of one sandwich. All fucking day."

"Fine." The seppo twisted the lid off the bottle and gulped down a good bit. "Now tell me a story before you tuck me in, Dad."

"Fuck off, mate." Grunting, he threw it into reverse and used his dad's tracks to get the Jeep pointed the right way. "Don't distract me while I'm driving."

"I showed you mine; now you show me yours."

Chuck didn't respond to that one, though he felt his face heating up again and was abruptly glad for the dark.

"C'mon, man. You said you were a pilot. How'd you end up running black ops?"

Uncomfortable, he shrugged. "Necessity. They eighty-sixed the pilot corps about a year after that fuckarow they pulled on you, so the PPDC had to restructure. We needed a new strategy, and the UN wanted it quiet, so we went mostly covert. The piloting teams were absorbed into the new jaeger program and cross-trained in wetwork and covert tactics."

"Shit, what were you, sixteen?"

"Seventeen. Sniped my first Kaiju priest that spring. Blew up my first temple later that summer."

"Fuck."

"Which way?"

Raleigh gestured left. "Who the hell trains a seventeen-year-old kid as an assassin?"

Chuck smirked. "Oh, Dad was against it every step of the way. He was okay with me copiloting at fifteen because I'd damn near been raised for it, but he about blew a gasket when Pentecost approved my application to the jaeger program."

"Pentecost is still in charge, then?"

"Actually, he just stepped down. Cancer. Dad's the marshal now, though he doesn't like the sound of the title." He smirked again. "Oddly enough, that's why we're in Alaska in the first place. Pentecost ordered the whole jaeger program -- what's left of it, anyway -- here to announce the change in leadership and work out our strategy."

"Damn." Raleigh sounded almost sad. "Always thought he'd go out in battle or not at all. He just seemed... I dunno... kind of eternal, ya know?"

Chuck nodded. "Anyway, we were supposed to have a meeting about it this morning, but I seem to have been otherwise occupied and missed it."

"Hey, you could have left at any time. I didn't even have a candybar to threaten you with after I passed out."

Faking a grin of fond remembrance, Chuck nodded. "Yeah. Good times, mate. Good times."

Raleigh snorted. "If that's your idea of good times, I hate to think what you'd call a real party."

"You'll see soon enough."

"God help me."

"Fuck you, too, Ray."

"Just drive, Hansen."

Yeah. Good times.


	15. Chapter 15

"You boys are cutting it close."

Chuck rolled his eyes. Trust Herc to meet them at the door with a scowl. "Keep your hair on, old man. We had to stop for food."

It was true enough. Chuck had pulled them in at a roadside diner and refused to leave until Raleigh polished off an entire chicken-fried steak dinner. He was probably being over-cautious, but if the dumbass seppo he'd somehow taken under his wing intended to throw himself back into war, Chuck was going to by-God make sure he wasn't starting off at too much of a disadvantage. The bloke already had a gunshot wound, for Chrissake.

"You could've at least put the battery back in your cell so we'd know where you were."

His neck heated up as Raleigh shot him a curious look. "Oi, forgot about that." Grumbling, he pulled both pieces from his coat pockets and slotted the battery back into its place, then turned the phone back on. "Happy now, old man?"

"Almost." Stone-faced, Herc handed him his personal in its holster. "I swear I ought to ask if you're wearing clean skivvies every time you leave."

"Oi! I had my ankle piece, dammit! I'm not a total fuckwit."

"Wait, what?"

The heat crept from his neck to his cheeks as he shot the incredulous Raleigh a sheepish look. "Not the whole time. Just... ya know, after you passed out like a little girl from that paper cut on your arm."

"Chuck, why the hell--"

"Anyway," Herc interrupted loudly. "Your gear finally showed up."

Just like that, Chuck felt his low-level irritation and not-so-low-level embarrassment vanish, and he grinned like Christmas. "Bonzer! Where is it?"

"In your bunk."

He was going to eat a whole damn sleeve of Tim Tams. Maybe two. He'd earned it.

He started off, visions of sweets setting his mouth to watering, but Herc snagged him by the sleeve of his coat before he could even take a step.

"Oi, hold up. You're coming on the tour."

Fighting a cross between a scowl and a pout, he jerked his sleeve out of the old man's grasp. "What tour?"

Herc rolled his eyes. "The one where we show Raleigh around because he hasn't stepped foot in the Icebox in five years."

Chuck shot Raleigh a look, but he had to concede the point. Mako had taken him and Herc on a tour when they first arrived, after all. Tim Tams would apparently have to wait.

"Fine. But make it short, old man."

"Don't call me that."

"Ugh, get on with it."

Herc rolled his eyes but gestured for Raleigh to follow along. "How's the arm, kid?"

The seppo shrugged, readjusting the big duffel. "It's alright. A little sore, but it doesn't look infected or anything."

"Good. We'll get you to your bunk in a bit, and you can have one of the medics take a look at it, just to be sure. You remember where the hangars were?"

Raleigh nodded. "Left at the end of the hall and all the way down."

"Good memory."

Herc headed that way, and Chuck frowned as he followed along. Mako hadn't bothered to show them the hangars on their tour, so why were they headed there now?

"Yancy's fine, by the way. Newt -- that's Dr. Geiszler, the neurosurgeon -- is already running some tests. Remind me to swing by the med bay so you can see for yourself."

"Thank you, sir." Raleigh adjusted his knapsack, and Chuck wondered if his arm was bothering him more than he admitted. "Did... I don't suppose he woke up or anything? Being in a new place will probably confuse him."

Herc considered. "Miss Mori didn't say one way or the other, so I'd think not. Might be a good idea to tell his nurses that, though. They probably already know his condition, but it can't hurt to be careful." They passed a hallway T-ing off from the main one. "Mess hall's down that way."

Chuck snorted. "Said as if a soldier would forget where the food is."

Raleigh shot him a grin, but Herc ignored him and strode on past where another hallway shot off to the left.

"Kwoon and showers, right?" The seppo grinned when Herc nodded without slowing. "Whaddya say, Chuck? You up for a spar later?"

Chuck smirked. While he did indeed want to go toe-to-toe with Becket on the mats and see what the bloke could do when he wasn't so furious he could barely see straight, it was too damn late for a fight.

"Fuck off, mate. I got better things to do tonight than knock you down."

Herc snorted. "What he means is: he has a date with a pack of Tim Tams from the secret stash in his footlocker."

"Dad!"

Too late. Raleigh was already snickering, the shit-for-brains.

They turned left at the end of the hall, and Chuck felt another frown creep in. He didn't like that they were headed for the hangars. No matter what Herc said, Raleigh clearly didn't really need a tour to refamiliarize himself with the Shatterdome, and even if he did, they'd strolled right by the areas a returning soldier would actually use. So... why the hangars?

He had a bad feeling, and he didn't know why, and he didn't like it. The bad feeling intensified when he looked ahead and saw Mako waiting for them at the big bay doors, notebook in hand.

"Hello again, Mr. Becket."

Raleigh, ever the charming all-American, smiled softly and put out his hand. "Miss Mori. I don't think we were ever actually introduced."

She smiled, too, but it didn't reach her eyes. She did, however, reach out and shake the offered hand. "I suppose not. It's nice to meet you."

"You, too." Raleigh's eyes dropped for a moment before he let go of her hand and again adjusted his duffel. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for setting this up."

Chuck had known Mako too long to not see the slight wince around her eyes. On anyone else, it would have been a full-blown flinch, but she'd always been good at controlling herself. She'd had to be, with everything she'd been through.

Her answer was very careful. "I'm glad we are finally caring properly for your brother, Mr. Becket. I'm sorry, however, that it comes at such a price."

An uncomfortable silence fell, and Chuck wanted nothing more than to be his usual asshole self and stalk off in a snit. Unfortunately, he was too unsettled and frustrated for a good rage-on, and he didn't want to leave Raleigh alone to face whatever Herc and Mako had up their sleeves that left them hovering uncertainly just outside a hangar bay that hadn't been used in half a decade.

As if sensing that Chuck's patience was wearing thin, Herc suddenly squared his shoulders and thumped the side of his fist on the door control. With a groan and a grinding, ratcheting clatter, the big doors shuddered apart and rolled back, revealing the dark, gaping cavern of the main bay. Overhead light banks clicked on one at a time down the line, and as they stepped into that wide-open space, Chuck caught himself thinking that the place didn't look as abandoned as it should. It wasn't festooned with dusty cobwebs, like the unused rooms in Raleigh's house.

He should have guessed. He really should have put it all together before the last bank of lights at the back of the bay flickered on and illuminated two pristine F-27 fighter jets huddling back in their smaller hangars, a Mark I and a Mark III.

Raleigh gasped softly, and Chuck could almost feel the swift pain that had caused the sound. Seeing the infamous Gipsy Danger whole and shining like new sent a dagger through his own chest. He couldn't imagine the size of the sword it sent through the ghost plane's actual pilot.

"Raleigh, I swear I didn't know." Herc's voice was low and rough. "Stacker didn't tell me until I got back and Miss Mori reported to him that you were being reinstated."

Cold fury settled into Chuck's gut like acid. "Mori knew, though." He turned to glare at her, but she was staring with fierce concentration at the floor. "Didn't you, Mako? You knew, and that's why you were so keen to bring him back in."

She straightened her shoulders but didn't lift her gaze from the floor. "The restoration was my project, an eyes-only back-up plan implemented by Marshal Pentecost three years ago."

He stepped closer, trying to get in her face and inwardly cursing that she was a head shorter than him and still refused to look at anything but the floor. "Why her? Why Gipsy? Yancy was supposedly dead and Raleigh was dishonorably discharged, so why the hell would you restore their fucking rig as a super-secret back-up plan?"

Finally, she raised her eyes and met his, unflinching. "I chose Coyote Tango out of respect for the marshal. I chose Gipsy Danger because she was my favorite." Her shoulders straightened further. "And because I did not believe the official report about the incident. Neither did Sensei." Her calm, firm glance shifted toward Herc. "Neither did you, sir."

Well, fuck.

Still furious but with nowhere to vent it in the face of such a painfully honest answer, he shot a glance at Raleigh, then stopped cold. Raleigh was no longer at his side.

Apparently, while Chuck had been snarling at Mako, a pale and stricken Raleigh Becket had shrugged off his burdens and sleepwalked over to his girl. The long lost pilot stared up at the faded denim vision from his past, then slowly raised a hand and stroked it down her side. His eyes closed, and his head bowed.

Herc sighed. "We should give 'em a moment alone."

No one argued.


	16. Chapter 16

Since the tour had been little more than a pretense to get them to the hangar and it was pretty clear that Raleigh still knew his way around, everyone was mercifully dismissed to their separate destinations as soon as Raleigh managed to tear himself away from the reincarnation of his best and worst memories. He and Chuck walked toward the crew quarters together, Chuck stealing the occasional glance at the subdued, tired expression on Raleigh's face. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

In all, he thought the bloke had taken the shock far better than Chuck would have, but it was hard to tell. While not wearing the stiff, blank expression he'd adopted while looking at Chuck's military ID, Raleigh wasn't his usual calm, sad-eyed but softly smiling self, either.

Or maybe he was expecting too much of the poor bastard. It had been a hell of a long day, and it shouldn't be a surprise that even a strong man couldn't roll with quite this many punches. A good night's sleep would probably help, but Chuck suspected that Raleigh just needed time. He could only hope they got it.

Sighing, he stopped outside of the Beckets' old bunk, looking up at the faded Gipsy Danger emblem with trepidation. Raleigh put a foot on the bottom step, then paused and seemed to shiver.

"I don't think I can go in there."

Chuck nodded. "Don't blame you, mate." He shrugged. "Herc says you can pretty much take your pick of bunks. Might be a bit dusty if it isn't one that's already been cleaned out, but...."

"Is there a clean one close to yours?"

Grinning a little, he shot the seppo a narrow look. "What, you're not sick of me yet?"

"I heard you had Tim Tams."

A surprised snort escaped him, and he shook his head. "If you think you're getting my secret stash, you're more bungers than I thought. And that's saying something."

Of course, he was already on his way as he spoke, and Raleigh, of course, joined him. They walked in comfortable silence, and Chuck felt a little better about the whole mess. Raleigh might be reeling, but the bloke could still make a joke, so all wasn't lost.

Grinning, he pulled up short at his own bunk. "This is me. I think these down to the corner are all aired out and cleaned. They sent support crew ahead a couple of weeks back to get the place ready, but they're still working on it."

"You mind if I take the next one over?"

Pleased but trying not to show it because... well, just because, Chuck shrugged. "Whatever blows up your skirt, mate. Get some sleep, yeah?"

Raleigh nodded. "What time is the meeting tomorrow?"

Because of course there was another meeting. Mako clearly had an entirely different strategy in mind than anything they'd discussed before if there was a potential for pilot action, and the whole team definitely needed to know that.

"08:00. Breakfast is at 06:00, though."

The seppo quirked that little smile. "It's been a long time since I kept military hours. If I'm not up by 06:30, just come bang on the door until you hear signs of life."

He snorted. "Fuck that, mate. If you're not in the mess hall at six sharp, you're getting a bucket of ice water."

The little smile widened to a grin. "What happened to you making me coffee and eggs?"

"When's the last time you took a bullet for me, again?"

"Man, that's cold."

"Fuckin' A right, mate." Smirking, he gave the whacker a little shove to get him going. "Go get some sleep, ya drongo. You're gonna need it."

He waited to make sure the bloke wouldn't come running out of the next bunk covered with spiders or whatnot, then finally cranked open his own door when he heard the other door clang shut. When he stepped inside and caught sight of his neatly-made cot, he was suddenly more tired than he'd ever been. Raleigh may well have been through an emotional wringer the last twenty-four hours or so, but Chuck wasn't far behind. It had been one hell of a long trip to the store, preceded by a hell of a long trip from Hong Kong.

He needed to get his mind back on the war. It had been his driving force, his sole focus for so long, but even as he shucked out of clothes in desperate need of a wash and headed for a long, hot shower, the daily threats that had dogged his steps for a third of his life seemed... distant. Less important.

They _weren't_ distant, and they _weren't_ less important. He needed to refocus.

But first, he needed a goddamn shower.

By the time he stepped out, steaming from the blissful heat and oh, so ready for his mattress, he had managed to clear his mind of the distractions and frustrations that had cluttered it and felt plugged back into the situation at hand. Yes, Raleigh Becket and his devastated brother were important -- maybe a little too important, if he was honest with himself -- but what had happened to them couldn't be changed. They could only go forward from here, and forward from here meant what looked to be a war council in the morning.

It also meant that, whether Chuck liked it or not, Raleigh would probably end up flying Gipsy Danger again. He strongly suspected that Mako would lobby for the copilot position, considering she had freely admitted to restoring the Mark III because it was her favorite. Fair or not, Raleigh Becket would probably see battle again, which meant history could repeat itself almost any day.

He had to accept that. He had no power to prevent it, and he had his own part to play in the battle, though he had no idea what that role was now that he didn't have a partner. As he scruffed a towel over his damp hair while brushing his teeth with the other hand, he reminded himself that they were at least on the same side. 

Raleigh could take care of himself. The bloke had done so under seriously shitty circumstances for the last five years and had taken care of a grievously damaged brother, too. In fact, he'd taken better care of Yancy than he had of himself, but it came out to the same: ol' Cap was capable and resourceful and knew as well as Chuck that the next few months might be the _last_ few months for all of them.

At least the seppo was willing to fight, even if it wasn't exactly for the right reasons. Chuck couldn't deny him that.

Relieved and tired, but in a less dragging way than before the shower, Chuck crawled under his covers and sighed. He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for the moment, it didn't matter.

Giving a last vague thought to whether or not Raleigh had enough blankets, he shifted until he was supremely comfortable, then let his military upbringing send him almost instantly off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Herc was worried. The younger Becket was something of a wild card thrown into a potentially deadly poker match, and Chuck wasn't acting like himself because of it, which threw a whole other layer of uncertainty over the mess.

Of course, Herc couldn't really blame his son. Chuck had always been fiercely loyal to those he considered his responsibility -- a group that consisted of the entire world while simultaneously excluding the vast majority of individuals in it -- and somehow, the Becket kid had won that loyalty in less than twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, Herc strongly suspected that his son's oddly sarcastic affection for the bloke sprung not from Raleigh's taking a bullet for him but from something else entirely.

He wasn't sure the current situation could afford that kind of distraction.

Sighing, he looked around the conference table, paused to give the new kid a welcoming (and hopefully reassuring) nod, then stood and called the meeting to order.

"As I'm sure you're all aware, there've been a few changes. Luckily, it seems those changes might give us a few opportunities we wouldn't have previously had." He dipped his head toward Raleigh, who tried and failed to smile when all eyes fell upon him. "We all know the drones knocked us out of the air a long time ago and have only advanced in maneuverability since then, but maybe we can use that to our advantage. We don't have enough of a force for an all-out assault, but even one rig in the air could potentially serve as a distraction for another operation."

Grudging nods all around, even from Chuck.

Relaxing a bit when the basic premise was undisputed, Herc shrugged. "We'd have to make it count, though, because we won't get another chance before they shore up their aerial defenses again. If we get out alive once, we won't get out alive again. So... suggestions?"

Newt, again like a primary schooler, raised his hand. "I hate to be a buzzkill, but do we actually have a piloting team available? We only gained the one, right?"

Raleigh shifted in his seat, again seeming uncomfortable with the attention. Herc looked from him to Pentecost, who wouldn't likely be happy with the answer to the good doctor's question.

"Miss Mori has volunteered to be Mr. Becket's copilot."

Sure enough, Stacker shook his head. "That's not an option, Herc."

Forcing a grim smile, Herc shrugged. "Sorry, Stacker, but that's not your call anymore. As far as I'm concerned, she's more than proved she's mustard."

Stacker Pentecost had always been a fixed point. The man never lost his level head, no matter the provocation. To his credit, he didn't appear to do so now. Of course, Herc had known him long enough to see the cold steel go up behind those piercing eyes.

"Miss Mori has never flown in her life."

Luckily, Herc had a full supply of his own steel to rely on. "She's never failed a simulation."

"You and I both know that a simulation is nothing compared to actual flight experience."

"Which is why I've scheduled a trial for later today. Raleigh could stand to shake off the rust, and it'll give Mako a feel for the real stick."

Stacker's jaw clenched, his eyes glittering like black ice. Herc didn't back down. The entire group held its collective breath.

Finally, the former marshal sighed and looked at Mako, who had graciously refrained from arguing her case but looked almost ready to cry. It would have been sobbing hysterics in a lesser woman. Stacker didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. The decision was made.

Clearing his throat, Newt again stepped into the awkward silence. "Okay, so I guess we have a piloting team. If we only have the one shot, we need to find... a pressure point. A target of maximum damage, if you will."

Herc nodded, his adrenaline still singing from the silent altercation with his old friend. "Agreed. Suggestions?"

Dr. Gottlieb sat forward and clasped his hands on the table. "If I may?"

Herc nodded and sat down.

"Sir, as was said yesterday, we simply don't have enough information to know where to strike. It occurs to me that perhaps _that_ is where we should therefore strike."

Chuck, who had been agreeably quiet up until now, finally spoke up. "You're saying we should launch a bogus air assault to cover for a covert information grab." When the doctor nodded, the brat surprised everyone by nodding slowly. "That's not a bad idea, mate."

"Wait, wait, wait." Newt gestured wildly. "What kind of information grab are you talking about exactly?"

Gottlieb sighed. "Any kind of information we can get. Schematics, technology updates, reports on their genetic modifications, their offensive strategy... anything we can find."

Growing ever more agitated, Geiszler rolled his eyes. "Look, Hermann, I know you like your chalkboards and all, but these guys aren't using the ol' notebook and paper. You're talking about breaching their network, and that's... well, not impossible, but definitely not feasible."

Herc frowned. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't a movie. You can't just walk into a coffee shop with WiFi, type really fast, and hack a mainframe on the other side of the planet. Someone would have to physically break into a Kaiju facility, sit down at an actual terminal on the network, and have enough time to not only run a password program to log in but probably run decryption, as well. And that's if the someone knows both what they're looking for and where to find it."

Frowning harder, Herc exchanged a dark look with Chuck. "That's an awful lot of 'if'."

Newt nodded. "Exactly."

Reluctantly, he looked at Tendo, who paled and sank down in his chair. "C'mon, Tendo. You're the resident computer genius."

"Sir, I--"

"Dad, he isn't field-trained. He'd be a sitting duck, distraction or no."

Suddenly, Aleksis Kaidanovsky spoke. "He will have protection." At his side, Sasha nodded wordlessly. "We can get him into a lesser facility."

Across the table, the Wei triplets nodded as one. One of them -- Herc still couldn't tell which name went with which triplet -- spoke. "We will run interference on the ground. No one will touch him."

For the first time, Herc started to feel like this might actually work. Unfortunately, it looked like Newt still wasn't on board.

Shaking his head, the hyper little bastard leaned forward over the table. "No offense, but while Tendo might be able to get in, he wouldn't have a clue what he was looking for. Are we really gonna waste our one shot only to come back with plans for the first annual Kaiju 'Congrats, we totally took over the world' dinner party?"

Chuck snorted. Herc elbowed him hard enough to hurt.

"Then what do you suggest?"

Geiszler shrugged. "Send me in with him."

Okay, Herc did not see that coming. Apparently, neither did anyone else. Jaws dropped all around the table.

Finally, it was perhaps inevitable that Chuck would break the silence. "Newt, I'm gonna take back at least half of the things I've said about you."

Herc closed his eyes and shook his head. "All right, all right. So this is the plan: providing Mr. Becket and Miss Mori work out in the trial, we fake an aerial assault on the Kaiju perimeter. If the Kaiju take the bait, the Kaidanovskys and the Weis sneak Newt and Tendo into an outlying facility and give them the time they need to swipe however much intel they can get their hands on. God willing and the creek don't rise, we all get the hell out alive and see if we can actually find a way to turn the tide in our favor. Does that about cover it?"

Tendo looked pained. "Please tell me there's more to the plan than that."

Herc rolled his eyes. "We'll work out the fine details later. Right now, we're just looking for an outline. Does that about cover it?"

Chuck grunted. "Everything but what the hell I should be doing the whole time."

Gearing himself up, he met his son's already-irritated glare. "Holding the fort."

Right on cue, the little brat shot to his feet. "The fuck I will. You really think I'll sit back and just _watch_ this thing?"

He opened his mouth to say something he'd probably regret later, but a quiet, firm voice cut right through whatever doomed order he'd been about to lay down.

"Chuck, you have to stay here."

Stiffening, Chuck shot Raleigh an incredulous, almost betrayed look. Becket didn't flinch.

"We're kinda putting all our eggs in one basket, here. Worst case scenario, we all die. If that happens, at least you and Herc will still be here to keep the jaeger program alive. You know the UN won't let the PPDC rebuild it from the ground up." The bloke shrugged. "If we all die, it's over. If all of us but you die, there's still hope."

Chuck's jaw and fists clenched, but Herc only barely noticed. He was too busy being impressed by the quiet logic in the strangely elegant speech. Raleigh hadn't said a word up until now, but the kid had apparently just been waiting for the right moment.

Then, the bloke actually cracked a grin. "Besides, if we end up in the shit, who else would come bail us out?"

Herc looked up at his son, suddenly curious how he would react. The Chuck he knew wouldn't back down an inch and would throw one righteous hell of a shouting match, only grudgingly conceding a point after cooling off away from the situation. However, Herc had yet to see the brat show that side to Becket, and he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his arrogant jerk of a son might be capable of seeing reason _before_ flying off the handle for once.

Again, it seemed the group collectively held its breath.

After a long, tense moment, Chuck heaved an overly loud sigh and threw himself back down into his seat. "Since this whole plan hinges on you not being a fucking septic, mate, I guess I'll end up in on it, anyway."

But the words held little heat, and, while Herc could barely believe it, it seemed the storm had passed. Unbelievable.

Shaking his head, he grinned a little, unable to help himself. "It seems we have a course of action, people. Stacker, if you'll join me, Miss Mori, and Tendo in my office, we'll go over a more comprehensive strategy. Everyone else, dismissed."

While everyone milled about in preparation of leaving, Herc kept an eye on young Becket, who moved to talk with Miss Mori before she could leave. The kid had surprised him, and he was starting to see why Chuck seemed so fond of the bloke. Raleigh had a quiet sort of strength about him and was a hell of a lot smarter than he looked. Herc had always assumed Yancy was the solid rock on which the Becket brothers' early successes had been built, but now, he wondered.

If nothing else, he felt a damn sight better about the whole situation. And about the expression on Chuck's face when he thought no one was watching him watch Raleigh.

His only concern when he finally left for his office was that the younger Becket didn't seem to look at Chuck the same way.


	18. Chapter 18

"So where's this secret stash of yours?"

Still galled about being left out of the whole operation, Chuck grunted without looking up from his tablet. Besides, he didn't have to look to know Raleigh was still standing in the doorway, looking like Captain America in a bad sweater and probably about to try and pull him out of the dumps with a few quips and a soft smile. Worse, Chuck didn't doubt the bastard would succeed. It was part of the seppo's dubious and annoying charm.

"Herc said something about a footlocker."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the bait. Raleigh wouldn't go poking about without permission. The whacker just wanted to get him talking, and Chuck wanted to stay mad.

"Whoa. Superman... Spider-Man... X-Men... Justice League... The Incredible Hulk...."

More surprised than he'd ever admit at the size of the fucker's balls, Chuck jumped up and spun around to see Raleigh standing by the now-open footlocker, flipping through a stack of Chuck's plastic-covered comic books. "The fuck, Becket??"

The fucking septic didn't even pause. "Deadpool... Hellboy... The Avengers...."

Furious and appalled and more than a little mortified, he jerked forward and snatched at his carefully hoarded stash, but Becket calmly stepped out of the way and held up one issue in particular. Chuck made another lunge, but the jackass spun to the side just enough that he tripped over the footlocker and barked the hell out of his shin.

"Dammit, Becket!"

"Wait a minute. Is... is this why you kept calling me Cap?"

Wincing and blushing and more than a little pissed, he grabbed at least the one comic away, though he was careful not to wreck it. "It's called privacy, dickhead! The fuck is wrong with you?"

"It is!" The fucker sounded downright _gleeful_. "You were calling me Captain America!"

Spitting mad and dismally aware that it was more embarrassment than fury making his face red, Chuck gave the fucking septic a one-handed shove toward the door. "Get the fuck out of my room, asshole!"

Of course, the shit-for-brains didn't budge. "What, is it the blonde hair, blue eyes thing? Or do I look particularly heroic in convenience store lighting?"

Gritting his teeth, he glared at the fuckwit and put aside the incriminating Avengers comic so he could clench both fists. "Fuck. Off."

Sparkling blue eyes regarded him for a moment, then dropped to the pile the fucking whacker still held. "This is actually a pretty impressive collection. How long have you been at it?"

"None of your goddamn business, Becket. Get the fuck out."

Instead of complying, the flaming jackass dipped back into the footlocker and pulled out another stack. "Oh, shit! You have all five issues of _Cataclysm: The Ultimates' Last Stand!_ Dude, I would have killed for these. Do you have any idea how rare a whole set is?"

He twitched. Of course Raleigh was a comics nerd. Because of fucking course he was.

"I'm very aware, fuckwit. They cost me a bloody fortune. Now, if you would kindly put them the fuck down and back away, I'll be happy to pick you up and throw you out of my bunk."

Still grinning like an idiot, the bastard finally relinquished his haul. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. Calm down before your hair catches fire."

Chuck grit his teeth. "Is that a ginger crack?"

Becket smirked. "Maybe."

God, he wanted to resist the pull of that smirk and stay mad. Unfortunately, he'd already admitted he was a lost cause as far as Raleigh Becket was concerned. Plus, it wasn't like he hadn't gone through the seppo's whole house looking for dirt. Even Chuck had to admit he was being a little pot-calling-the-kettle-black.

Grumbling, he crossed his arms. "You're an asshole. You know that, right?"

"So you've said." The dumbass took another long look at the contents of the footlocker but thankfully kept his hands to himself. "In all sincerity, though, this thing is a treasure trove."

Muttering, he put the stray Avengers comic back in his footlocker and closed it. He was tempted to lock it, but he knew Raleigh was no real threat to his collection. The bastard might borrow an issue or two, but Chuck was pretty sure the seppo had only invaded his privacy to get him talking.

Unfortunately, it had worked.

"Something on your mind, mate?"

Accepting the change of subject without a blink, Raleigh nodded. "I wasn't feeding you a line this morning, you know. There's no way this won't go south at some point, and I guarantee you someone'll need a rescue."

He grunted and backed away to lean against the far wall, putting some distance between them. "I get that. Of course I do." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "I even know that I'm the logical choice because I'm fresh out of partners. Doesn't make it any easier to sit back and watch everyone else take all the risks while I sit on my fucking thumbs."

"I know."

They were quiet for a long moment, and Chuck took comfort from the fact that the bloke wasn't trying to spoonfeed him bullshit platitudes. That was the good thing about Raleigh.

Well, one of the good things.

Sighing, he shrugged away from the wall and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "When's your flight test?"

"13:00."

"You up for a spar before lunch?"

As always, Raleigh's genuine smile seemed to light up the whole damn room. "That depends. Are you up for having your ass handed to you?"

"Whatever, old man. I'm in my prime, and you're sitting on five years of rust."

The smile turned into a smirk. "Put your money where your mouth is, Hansen. When I win, I want my pick of five comics."

"Oh, you are on, fucker." Smirking now, too, he cracked his knuckles. "When I win, I'm gonna make you eat one of your ugly-ass sweaters."

"Let's go, then."

"You know the fucking way."


	19. Chapter 19

"Your heartrate's a little high, Becket-boy. You okay in there?"

Chuck hovered over Tendo's shoulder, eyeing the bank of monitors and feeling tense and edgy. He hadn't missed Raleigh's growing anxiety as the ground crew had helped him into his upgraded, armored flight suit.

"I'm fine, Tendo." The voice over the comm sounded a little tight, but otherwise okay. "Just... it's a little claustrophobic in here. Been a while."

"Slow, deep breaths, brother. You're a natural. It's just like riding a bike."

If a bike could suddenly fall five miles out of the sky and explode, Chuck thought but didn't say.

"Mako, how you doin'?"

"Systems check complete. Everything in the green, five by five."

"Lookin' good. Let's do this." Tendo sat back and hitched up his rolled-up sleeves. "Gipsy Danger test flight proceeding in one minute, thirty seconds and counting."

Chuck fidgeted with his headset, then realized Herc was eyeballing him. Gritting his teeth, he snatched his hands away and shoved them into his pockets, trying to will himself to calm down. Becket's pulse seemed to jump with the higher whine of the engines as Gipsy edged backwards out of the hangar and into view of the window wall in front of Tendo's station. The tarmac was a cracked, black stripe stretching off into the snowy white distance as the jet eased around to face the right direction.

Tendo touched a screen and brought up the pilot monitoring again. "Heartrate's still high, Raleigh."

"I know. I'm fine."

Raleigh didn't sound fine. Chuck opened his mouth, caught Herc's headshake, and clamped his teeth together, reminding himself that this was out of his hands.

There was a definite tremor in the tight voice now. "Gipsy Danger test flight proceeding in three, two, one."

The engines ramped up to a scream, and Raleigh's heartrate shot into the stratosphere.

"Fuck. Fuck! Is that... fuck! Yan--fuck, oh shit, oh fuck oh shitohfuck--"

"Raleigh??" For the first time ever, Mako's voice sounded shrill.

"I'm fine! Fuck fuck fuck--"

Gipsy taxied forward, gaining speed, but Chuck had no doubt that Raleigh wasn't fully in control. The constant "ohfuckohshit" litany only increased, interspersed with an occasional, anguished interjection of Yancy's name, and Chuck didn't ask for permission before heading for the exit. He had no clue what the fuck he thought he could do on the ground, but Raleigh's panic was like a goad in his spine, and he couldn't _not_ run toward its source.

Voices started overlapping in his ear, Herc and Tendo shouting orders and Mako frantically trying to break through Raleigh's growing panic. Chuck ignored it all, taking the creaky metal steps down to ground level three at a time, heedless of the possibility of falling and breaking his own fucking neck.

Tendo: "Mako, you have to take control! You can't let him take off like this!"

Raleigh: "--fuckohshitohfuckIcan'tbreatheohfuckYancefuckfuckfuck--"

Mako: "Initiating pilot control shift, authorize five delta echo."

Herc: "He has some control, dammit -- he's running straight! Just let him get ahold of himself--"

Mako: "I have the conn. Throttling down. Reversing flaps."

Tendo: "Shit, his's heartrate's in the red. He's gonna code if he doesn't-- Mako, talk him down!"

Chuck pelted down the runway, watching Gipsy power down so fast she fishtailed and slued to one side before coming to a halt. Both the front and back canopies popped up and tracked away.

Mako: "Brakes engaged. Shutting down engines. Raleigh? _Raleigh??_ "

But Raleigh was beyond responding, hyperventilating convulsively, his tearing gasps echoing into Chuck's ear from the headset he'd almost forgotten about, and Mako was still strapped in and unable to reach him, too upset herself to manage the release.

Tendo: "Fuck, we're losing him! Chuck, can you get there?"

Chuck was already there, sprinting up to the plane in time to see Raleigh, shuddering in spasms, rip off his mask and helmet and lurch out of the cockpit so forcefully that he toppled out and freefell to the pavement, landing heavily on his side.

Herc: "We lost comms on him. Chuck? Talk to me, dammit!"

He threw himself to his knees and hauled the jerking, armored body half into his lap. "Ray! Mate, you gotta breathe, dammit!" He tipped Raleigh's head back to open his airway and shout in his face, but those baby blues were wall-eyed with panic. "Fuck. _Raleigh!_ It was just the engines, mate! Yancy's fine -- you just saw him an hour ago!"

Because of course it was the screaming engines. Of course they had sounded like the eternity of Yancy's agonized screams echoing in Raleigh's ears.

He took the poor, convulsing bastard's face between his hands and leaned down close, hollering until his throat hurt.

"Raleigh, goddammit, _listen to me!_ Look at me, you fucking septic! Yancy is alive, so just... fucking... _breathe!!_ "

Something in those gone eyes shifted, and just like that, Raleigh was looking at him. Still panicking, but not completely gorked.

"Yes. Look at me. You're fine. Yancy's fine. It was just the engines ramping up. Breathe, yeah? Just breathe."

Mako jumped down out of the jet and stumbled over to them, her face pale and shocked. Her knees buckled, and she sat down hard almost on Becket's still-twitching legs.

"Raleigh? Raleigh, please be okay. Please answer us."

Wide blue eyes shifted toward her voice, then jittered back to Chuck's. "Fuck... fuck, I... God... oh, God, oh GodohGodoh _fuck_ \--"

And those eyes filled up and spilled over, and all Chuck could do was pull the poor bloke up against his chest and hold onto him, wincing a little when Raleigh grabbed around him and squeezed hard enough to twinge the ribs he'd bruised in their spar earlier. Mako scooted closer and wrapped herself around Raleigh's back, murmuring softly, and they sat in a little huddle on the broken tarmac while Gipsy's engine ticked its cooldown into the frigid Alaskan afternoon.

It seemed the test flight was over.


	20. Chapter 20

"I told you this was a bad idea. You never listen to me, Dad, but I _told_ you."

Chuck was, as usual, furious. He couldn't help himself. He had no doubt he'd say things he'd probably regret later, but he was simply too wound up for a functioning verbal filter. At least he'd managed to wait until he was in the marshal's office.

"I told you he's already done his bit and should be out of it, but no. You suit him up and throw him into the scene of the worst fucking moment of his life, and then you're surprised when he has a fucking panic attack and damn near crashes before he can even get it in the air. What the fuck did you expect?"

"Chuck--"

"And you still aren't listening! _He can't do it_. Do you understand me? He's too fucking damaged, and if you force him into flying, he's gonna get us all fucking killed."

"That's enough, Mr. Hansen."

He shoved to his feet and got in Pentecost's face, glad to look away from the disappointment in his old man's eyes. "No, it's not bloody well enough because I can tell already that you're gonna suit him back up and throw him out there again. It won't fucking work. We can't afford any fuck-ups if this thing's going off, and this is a fuck-up waiting to happen."

The former marshal looked down from his extra few inches of height with dark disdain that only pissed Chuck off further. "It's not your decision, Mr. Hansen. Dismissed."

Jaw clenching so hard his teeth hurt, Chuck fought back everything else he wanted to say, spun on his heel, and threw open the door hard enough that it rebounded off the wall.

And there was Raleigh. Who had apparently heard every single unfiltered word.

"Ray--"

"Don't."

He winced. He couldn't help it. Raleigh didn't have to be loud to be furious. He was brutal winter ice to Chuck's blazing inferno.

With a last frigid glare, the son of a bitch turned on his heel and started off down the hall. Chuck's fury flared back up, and he ran after, grabbing an arm to spin the fucker around. Unfortunately, Raleigh had no intention of being manhandled and came around with a right cross that knocked Chuck on his ass, mouth bleeding and head ringing.

"Leave me alone." The usually calm voice sounded like gargled gravel. "Besides, I'm just a damaged fuck-up who's gonna get us all killed, right?"

He shoved to his feet, arming the blood off his chin. "I was trying to help, asshole."

Said asshole smirked, but it was a mere twist of thinned lips. "Well done. With friends like you, who needs the Kaiju Underground?"

Oh, no the fuck he didn't.

Raleigh gave him one more icy glare, then again turned to leave. Chuck wrestled internally, his usual nature wanting to shove the dumb fuck against a wall and beat the stupid out of him while the rest of him wanted to shove the dumb fuck against the wall and make him listen to reason. Yeah, he might not have phrased his intentions very well, but he _had_ been trying to help. Raleigh had no business in Gipsy's cockpit.

He knew ol' Cap was still reeling from the afternoon's disaster. He knew that made the bastard scratchier than usual, which was why he'd taken Chuck's complaints in the worst possible way. He knew his best course of action was to let the dipshit walk away and cool down, then approach him later and explain himself when neither of them was so close to exploding.

Fuck that. Fuck all that noise. That sucker punch had _hurt_.

Five running steps, and he grabbed Raleigh's arm again. This time, he ducked the expected swing, socked his shoulder in the fucker's chest, and slammed them back into a metal support. Raleigh jabbed an elbow down in the middle of his back, forcing a grunt from him, but Chuck was too far gone to care. He plowed his fist into the exposed ribs and flank once, twice, three times before the cheating bastard grabbed him by the hair and yanked him away.

They stood a few feet apart, panting and thrumming with the need to fight.

"I was _trying_ to _help_."

"Coulda fooled me, dickhead."

Chuck gritted his teeth, his fists aching with the need to keep punching. "Nothing I said was wrong."

Raleigh's jaw clenched. "Thanks a lot."

"Not what I--" He cut himself off. He really needed to learn how to say things right when he was pissed. "Look, all I meant was--"

"That I can't do it."

Fuck. He had said that, hadn't he? But he hadn't meant it like that, like it was Raleigh's fault. But fuck if he knew how to explain that without losing any of his teeth.

Fists clenched, Raleigh took a step forward and glared right in his face. "The worst part, Hansen?" His voice dropped to an intense, furious whisper. "You're fucking right."

Well, that knocked the fight right out of him, and he could only watch as Raleigh's eyes darkened over with pain. This time, when the poor fuck walked off, Chuck let him. There was nothing else to say.

Wincing as he prodded his tongue against where his teeth had shredded his cheek, he hawked out a mouthful of bloody spit and wondered what the fuck to do now. The short answer was to let Raleigh cool off, then bribe the touchy bastard with some comic books or something. The long answer wasn't as straight forward.

Because he _was_ fucking right. If Raleigh couldn't even get through a routine take-off without a panic attack, he'd be a hyperventilating sitting duck against the Kaiju drones. What the hell were they supposed to use as a distraction now? Their whole plan had pretty much just shit itself down an unworking toilet.

Sighing, he decided he needed a hot shower to wash away the lingering adrenaline (and the painful twinge in his back from where Raleigh had elbowed him, the bastard) and put himself in a better frame of mind. He had an hour until chow, and that ought to be just about enough time for them both to cool off and maybe be able to talk about something else for a while. Get back on the right foot, so to speak.

He just... he didn't like Raleigh being mad at him. He didn't like it at all.


	21. Chapter 21

Raleigh didn't show for supper.

Frustrated, Chuck jabbed moodily at his meatloaf, ignoring the sidelong looks from his old man and trying not to look up every time someone walked into the mess. Every time Herc opened his mouth to talk, Chuck rolled his eyes, which temporarily kept the quiet. Unfortunately, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was on the receiving end of yet another father-son lecture about whatever he'd done wrong this time.

Not that he didn't know. He knew all too well.

Herc sucked in a deep breath. "Look, son--"

"You don't have to say it."

Herc's eyebrows shot up. Without looking up from his destroyed meatloaf, Chuck sighed.

"I know, I know. I let my mouth run away with me, and it bit me in the ass. I didn't know he'd be right outside the fucking door. But... dammit, I was just trying to help."

Silence. Frowning, he eventually looked up to find his old man staring at him oddly.

"Actually, I was going to tell you not to worry because Stacker and I agreed to axe Gipsy Danger from the plan and come up with a different diversion."

He blinked. "...Oh." His meatloaf was suddenly the most fascinating object in the known universe. "Does Raleigh know?"

"Yeah. Stacker did the honors a bit after you stormed off. He wanted to give everyone a chance to cool down."

Sighing, he put down his fork and shoved his tray away. "He's gonna feel like a failure."

Herc nodded. "For a while, yeah."

He paused so long that Chuck started to hope the conversation -- which had gone better than he had any right to expect -- was over. No such luck.

"You care about him. A lot."

He shot the old man a hard look, already feeling defensive, but Herc's expression was carefully neutral, as if he expected the defensiveness and had already braced for it. Suddenly, Chuck felt tired. Tired of how they knew each other so damn well without knowing each other at all.

He sighed. "This is probably the part where I'm supposed to get all pissy and shout that I don't care a piss in a snowbank for that fucking septic and you shout back that I hide it about as well as an asshole in the middle of my forehead, but I'm just too damn tired."

Herc nodded, smiling a little but trying to hide it. "You act different when he's around. That's all I meant to say."

Chuck grunted, debating whether or not he still wanted the meatloaf he hadn't eaten much of in the first place.

"It's not a bad thing, Chuck. It's just... a new thing for you."

His eyes narrowed, and he shot his old man a look. Herc seemed uncomfortable, but that one look proved that the bastard intended to soldier on. Dammit.

"You're starting to see how your words and actions affect someone else and to actually care about that." Now _that_... was definitely a smirk. "That's a big step for you."

"Oi, you just couldn't resist, could you?"

Grunting again, he pushed to his feet and ignored the heat rising up his neck. Without another word, he snatched up his tray and stalked off, already debating which comics he'd take by Raleigh's room later in hopes of cheering the poor bloke up. As much as he hated the thought, he might have to temporarily part with his _Cataclysm_ series. At least he knew Raleigh would take good care of it.

He almost missed Herc's last comment on the subject.

"I'm proud of you, son."

It wasn't loud, but several people looked up, just the same. Chuck stopped midstep for an eternal second, then continued on, his shoulders stiff. He did, however, pause after he'd dumped his tray to look back at Herc, who was, of course, watching him.

His cheeks heating up as well as his neck, he gave the old man a short nod, then strode from the room.


	22. Chapter 22

Chuck couldn't help but sigh at the sight of Raleigh sitting at his brother's bedside, looking like he'd last smiled roughly a million years ago. He'd gone by the seppo's room first, then realized there was really only one place he could be.

Without a word, he walked as quietly as he could into the room and sat down in a spare chair on the opposite side of the bed. The seppo didn't say anything, which Chuck took as a good sign. At least he wasn't being kicked out.

After a long, uncomfortable silence broken only by the various beepings and whooshings of all the monitoring devices clustered at Yancy's head, Raleigh finally shifted in his seat.

"Newt says he can do the surgery tomorrow morning. They took him in for a bunch of scans earlier, and they're prepping the OR right now."

There was something strange in ol' Cap's voice, so Chuck answered warily. "That's good, yeah?"

The long muscle in Raleigh's neck twitched. "I... guess I'm just surprised."

He frowned a bit. "Surprised... that they're going in so soon?"

"That they're going in at all."

His frown deepened. "Why wouldn't they?"

As blank-faced as he'd been while looking at Chuck's military ID, Raleigh swallowed hard. "Because I'm not holding up my end of the bargain."

Ah. Well, what the hell could he say to that?

"Ray, you don't owe them... us... anything. You've already done your bit. They shoulda been taking care of him the whole damn time, anyway."

Raleigh didn't argue, but his blank expression didn't change, so he clearly didn't agree, either. After a long moment, he slowly, deliberately shook his head.

"I'm failing, Chuck."

"Oi, mate--"

"Failing him. Failing you. Failing Mako." A strangled noise coughed out of him. "Fuck, I could've killed her today. _Fuck_."

"Raleigh, don't--"

"One fucking job, and I can't even do that right."

"Stop." Chuck didn't stand up, but he did sit forward and point a finger in warning. "Just stop right there. That one fucking job ain't exactly easy, and it was your first time in a cockpit since the last one damn near ate you and your brother alive, so just don't."

The poor bastard's jaw clenched, the blank façade cracking around the edges. "What about the big plan? What's the diversion now? You and Mako, maybe? You're both pilots, right?"

He shook his head. "We're copilots, mate. Never sat in the big seat, even in training. Plus, Mako's holding down for Tendo. She's the only one who knows how to use all that monitoring shit. They were gonna use a couple of techs originally, but...."

He didn't finish that statement. In fact, he sort of wished he hadn't started it. Luckily, it didn't seem to send the bloke any farther afield.

The silence wasn't as fraught this time, and Chuck made no move to break it. Little by little, the brittle blankness went out of Raleigh's features until he just looked weary and worn down. Heartsore.

Then, out of nowhere, the whacker let out a quiet chuckle. Chuck raised an eyebrow, though he couldn't help but feel his own mood lighten with even that tiny shift in Raleigh's gloom.

"I just... sorry about that sucker punch." There was that little grin. "It was a dick move. Sorry."

Chuck's grin was a little wider. "And on the one time I didn't deserve it."

And there was the smirk he'd been digging for. "Well, I wouldn't go that far."

"Oi!" Not that he was anywhere near annoyed. "That's the last time I'll have your back when a bunch of mentals are trying to pack you into a jet-shaped Skinner box and send you into a meat grinder."

Raleigh sat back with a smug grin and gave him a little nod. Chuck saw it for what it was -- an acknowledgement that ol' Cap recognized that yes, Chuck really had been trying to help and hadn't meant anything he'd said to be a comment on Raleigh himself but on the situation. It was another of those moments where no words were needed, where words would have just muddied the waters further.

A good moment, in other words.

Then, he abruptly remembered why he'd tracked the seppo down in the first place and sat forward to pull his surprise out from the small of his back.

"Oi, before I forget." Watching the bloke's expression carefully, he reached across Yancy's bed to hand over his peace offering. Not that he thought it was needed anymore.

And, as he'd hoped, Raleigh's face lit up like Christmas, and everything was okay again. " _Cataclysm!_ No way! The whole series, even?"

Desperately trying to keep his grin from splitting his entire face, Chuck grunted. "They're just on loan, mate. Don't get too comfortable. If we get out of this fuckarow alive, I want them right the hell back, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

Beaming, the silly galah slid the first volume out of its plastic sleeve and just held it for a long moment, admiring the cover art. Then, he looked over at Chuck, and the simple happiness on those handsome features just about knocked him out of his chair. Again, he caught himself thinking that he could make a habit out of making Raleigh Becket smile.

"Thanks, Chuck."

The words were simple; the gratitude was not.

"Welcome, Raleigh."


	23. Chapter 23

Another morning, another war council. It was becoming something of a habit.

Herc looked around the table, his gaze pausing on Raleigh. The poor kid looked excruciatingly uncomfortable, but Herc couldn't blame him. As if yesterday's failure wasn't enough -- and yes, everyone at the table knew exactly what had happened -- Yancy's incredibly dangerous brain surgery had begun only an hour before, which was why Newt wasn't at the table. If it was Chuck under that kind of knife, Herc wasn't sure he'd be able to sit quietly through a war meeting, either.

Speaking of Chuck, the brat had abandoned his seat at Herc's right hand to sit by Raleigh. Herc wasn't surprised, exactly, but it still felt... strange. Chuck had waltzed his way through as many flings as a young, healthy, cocky soldier could dream of, but none of them had stuck. None of them had affected the kid like this. On one hand, Herc was glad to see his son showing signs of actual attachment, of his first real, grown-up relationship, as it were.

On the other hand, while Raleigh not only tolerated but actually seemed to like Chuck and was clearly able to bottle that hair-trigger temper of his before it got out of hand, Herc couldn't say that the bloke _liked_ him liked him. It would just be Chuck's luck to fall for someone who didn't or couldn't feel the same way.

Unfortunately, none of that was important right now. And he couldn't do anything about it, anyway.

"All right, people. Change in strategy."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Raleigh wince. Thankfully, no one outright glared at the poor kid. Everyone knew what he'd been through.

"We need a new diversion. I'm open to suggestions."

Silence around the table. Then, an answer from the last person he'd expected.

"You're planning to break into an outlying facility, right?" Raleigh's voice was tight but neutral. When Herc nodded, he continued. "It seems that a fake attack, like a bombing, on a more important inner facility would divert a lot of resources."

Herc considered this, but Chuck had already taken the bait.

"That's not bad, Ray. Especially if we can fake it enough that they think it's a prelude to an all-out assault. It might even get a bigger response than a fly-over would have. For a fly-by, they'd probably have just dispatched a drone, but for this...."

Mako broke in, her tone considering but cautious. "It's possible that they might even divert resources from the outlying facilities if they thought it was a true attack. While that would be optimal for our intel op, it would be all but a suicide mission for the assault team. We have not had good luck getting into the inner perimeter, let alone getting back out."

Raleigh, his face pale but determined, shrugged. "I'll do it."

Herc opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck beat him to it. "Fuck that, Ray. This is the stuff me and Dad have been doing for years. No offense, but you're not trained for it." The kid looked up at Herc, the wheels already turning, churning out plans and organizing his gear. "I got this, yeah?"

Gritting his teeth, Herc braced for impact. "You don't have a partner, and you're not going in alone." He forestalled the expected protest with a raised hand. "Over my dead body. And no, Raleigh, Chuck is right. You're a pilot, not a jaeger. We don't have time to train you up."

"Dad--"

"Sir--"

"We will do this."

Everyone quieted at this new voice. Sasha Kaidanovsky didn't speak very often, and it was probably a good thing. "Authoritative" didn't begin to describe the steel in her voice.

"Is good idea, and we will execute. Weis can babysit the geeks. We will blow things up."

Aleksis nodded, daring anyone to argue.

Herc watched as Chuck twitched, a hair's breadth from protest, but... well, it was hard to argue with the Russians. They didn't back down. They weren't unreasonable, by any stretch, but they were definitely hardcore.

After a long moment, Chuck sat back, scowling but not arguing.

Sighing, Herc shot a glance at Stacker, again instinctively looking for guidance. Unfortunately, the former marshal was just as up against it as Herc was and only shrugged, a bare movement of his shoulders.

He turned his focus to the Kaidanovskys, who looked at him steadily, their combined resolve unnerving. He wanted to remind them that Mako was right; this was tantamount to a one-way trip. This wasn't targeting pop-up temples scattered around the Pacific Rim or taking out the occasional sect leader that couldn't keep his head down. Once they entered Kaiju waters, they'd be virtually on their own. Between the drones and the sheer organizational cohesiveness of the inner Kaiju defenses, no branch of the PPDC had managed much success at breaching the inner perimeter. A rescue would be damn near impossible.

But he didn't say any of that. The Kaidanovskys knew the score; they'd been around since the very beginning and had kept Russia's shores Kaiju-free for six years before being called to the Icebox. They'd been pilots back when the first F-27s were designed, and their rig, Cherno Alpha, had been deliberately created without ejector seats.

They didn't back down, and they didn't fear death.

As if reading this sad realization in his eyes, Sasha nodded once. "We did not sign up to live forever." Her steely glare shifted to Raleigh, who now looked sick instead of nervous. "Is good plan, Becket. We will do this."

Feeling a little sick himself, Herc ran a hand over his face. "I don't like it. If our balls weren't this close to the bandsaw, I'd never in a million years approve this." Slumping, he shook his head. "But it's the only plan we've got, so... unless anyone has another suggestion?"

Silence around the table. Dammit.

"Right, then." He shook his head again. "Sasha, Aleksis, if you'll meet me, Stacker, and Mako in my office, we'll work up a schedule. Timing will be crucial, so we all have to be on the same page. Everyone else, dismissed."

The group rose and exited as if they were running from the scene of a crime, but Herc stayed in his seat a moment longer. He had all but signed a death warrant on the Russians, and he needed to get his head around that before doing anything else. Unfortunately, before he could even start, he realized that not everyone had left, after all.

Raleigh sat with his elbows braced on the table, his head in his hands. Herc sighed.

"It's a good idea, kid."

Said kid huffed and dropped his hands to the table, shaking his head. "It was when I was the one pulling it off."

"You know it wouldn't--"

"It's my fault."

Herc subsided. He didn't know Raleigh well and wasn't sure what to make of him, but he remembered that, before the failed flight test, he'd been impressed with him.

"It's my fault we needed a new plan in the first place. I can deal with that, I guess, especially if I could pick up the slack somehow." The kid's fists clenched, his whole body tense. "But now it's my plan sending them off to die, and... I don't think I can deal with that."

He definitely understood that. It was pretty much what he felt himself. "You couldn't stop them if you tried. They've made up their minds."

Raleigh swallowed hard. "I know. Doesn't make it any easier. I remember hearing about them. The Kaidanovskys. They were legends even back in my time. And now...."

Herc considered for a long moment before responding. Then: "They'll still be legends, whether they live or die."

It didn't make him feel any better, and a look at the kid sitting so stiffly halfway up the table proved that it didn't make Raleigh feel any better, either. But they were running out of options, and even a suicide mission was preferable to just plain dying out and leaving the world in Kaiju hands.

Sighing, Herc pushed to his feet. He still had a logistics meeting, after all. But he paused another moment, eyeing this wild card that had appeared in their dwindling deck. Chuck had said Raleigh was damaged, but now Herc wasn't so sure. Suffering from PTSD, absolutely, but damaged?

This was the kid... the _bloke_ who had kept himself and his all but comatose brother alive without any outside help for five years. This was the bloke that had agreed to step back into active service for a chance at saving his brother's life. The bloke who had tried to continue the flight test even with his body in full panic revolt. Who had come up with another solution to supplant his own failure, had clearly been ready to die to implement it, and was now devastated that someone else would be making that sacrifice.

This bloke had roused Chuck's loyalty and protectiveness, and, like it or not, Herc couldn't help but agree with his son's choice, even if Raleigh never felt the same way.

So, Herc gave in. "Go on, kid. Chuck'll be looking for you."

It wasn't much of a blessing, and he wasn't sure Raleigh understood the significance of it, but for now, for the world they lived in, it was all Herc could say.

Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.


	24. Chapter 24

Chuck couldn't find Raleigh, and it was starting to piss him off. Or worry him. He wasn't really sure which at this point because they both felt about the same, as far as he was concerned.

He'd checked the seppo's room. He'd checked the OR waiting room. He'd even checked Yancy's room, though the poor bastard was still in surgery and likely would be for another couple of hours. He had even, in a moment's sad inspiration, checked the hangar where Gipsy had been banished like a puppy that had peed on the carpet.

Scowling, he stopped outside the hangar bay and crossed his arms, thinking furiously. He knew Raleigh hadn't taken being sidelined yet again very well. Last time, the dumbass had started a fight--

A fierce grin twisted his mouth, and he suddenly knew exactly where Raleigh was.

Sure enough, as he neared the kwoon, he heard the furious sounds of a good stick fight echoing up and down the hall. Jogging the last few meters, he hoped he was in time to get in on the action.

And immediately changed his mind when he realized Raleigh's opponent was Mako. Fuck that. He'd sit back and watch.

It was a hell of a fight, though. They seemed pretty evenly matched, which surprised Chuck but probably shouldn't have. His own spar with Raleigh had ended in something of a tie, both of them winded and aching but neither with enough clear points to claim victory, but he had strongly suspected that the bloke had been in too good a mood to truly let go.

Now, though, all the stops were out, and ol' Cap was proving more than a match for the always dangerous Mako. Apparently, they'd been at it for a while, as Raleigh's white wifebeater was soaked through with sweat and Mako's hair stuck to her face in strings. Muscles bulged and strained, soft grunts and louder shouts echoed in counterpoint to the nearly constant crack of the bos as they attacked and blocked, attacked and blocked.

Chuck was suddenly uncomfortable. Part of it was that his mind had drifted just enough that he caught himself staring at Raleigh, tracing that sweat-sheened musculature with his eyes and remembering how it felt under his fingers as he'd bandaged the bloke's arm. Unfortunately, he realized Mako was much in the same state, and with all the grunting and cursing....

Well, the scene sort of went from eye candy to voyeurism. The spar was... intimate, somehow, in a way his and Raleigh's hadn't been.

Were they...?

Appalled, Chuck felt his heart drop. While he'd been a little surprised by his own reaction to Raleigh because he hadn't looked at a bloke that way for years (and really just the one), he hadn't even considered if the seppo had ever once reacted the same way. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was all but certain the bastard hadn't. Sure, Raleigh liked him well enough, but....

Maybe it was just because they were so evenly matched. Chuck had been watching for a good fifteen minutes now, and neither had managed a point, despite several brilliant attacks from each side. Maybe that's what made it look so intimate.

Or was it the little smile on Raleigh's lips as Mako countered a particularly vicious offensive?

Chuck didn't want to watch anymore. He hadn't really allowed himself to think about his growing affection. Hell, he hadn't had time, and the whole damn world seemed to be on a ticking clock at the moment. What was the use in starting something without any hope of a future in it?

But no logic in the world could change the sinking in his gut as Mako flipped Raleigh, who rolled out of a potential fall only to end up with his bo at her neck in a clear and inarguable win. They stared at each other, panting and grinning viciously, for so long that Chuck was half-inclined to sneak out so he wouldn't have to see the make-out session that almost had to follow a staring contest that heated.

Then, the two pulled apart, bowed politely, and turned away from each other. Mako picked up her overshirt and boots, then headed for the women's showers, while Raleigh armed sweat from his forehead -- useless, as his forearm was just as sweaty as his face -- and finally noticed Chuck sitting back against the wall.

The seppo grinned even as he slumped. "Oh, man. I don't think I have another bout in me just yet."

Forcing a grin he didn't feel, Chuck shoved to his feet. "No worries. You wouldn't be worth a damn after Mori put you through your paces, anyway."

That gained him a little smirk. "Nice, Chuck. Real nice."

It was the same banter as usual, which should be a good thing, but Chuck didn't want the same banter. Dammit. It was difficult to hide his frustration as he tossed the dumbass a towel.

"She's a right one." Feeling edgy, he picked up a spare bo and fidgeted with it, flicking a quick glance at Raleigh from under his eyelashes. "Mori, I mean. She's a good girl, yeah?"

The bastard grinned. "That she is. One look, and she knew I needed a fight." The grin faded. "I just... after the meeting, ya know... the Kaidanovskys...."

Great. Now he felt like an asshole. "I know." He shrugged. "You know they wouldn't have it any other way, right?"

Raleigh nodded, not looking as reassured as he should. "That's what Mako said."

Ugh. Mako again.

"It's what Herc said, too."

His eyebrows shot up. "When did you talk to him?

"Right after the meeting." Now, the gorgeous bastard was toweling off his arms. Flexing. The _bastard_. "I just sat there at the table with my head in my hands like a useless asshole, and he tried to tell me that it wasn't my fault, but...." A shrug. More flexing. "It is. Of course it is."

Chuck shook his head. Now was not the time to be perving on a bloke that probably had no return interest in his fellow blokes. "Look, mate, none of this is your fault. The exact same situation exists whether you're here or not. At least you had an idea. The rest of us just sat there."

But Raleigh shrugged this off -- and his wifebeater, dammit -- and turned away. "I need a shower." He started off, the bastard, then paused after a few steps. "Wait, did you... was there something I'm supposed to be doing right now?"

Chuck frowned, trying not to eyeball the exposed torso too obviously and dismayed to realize that neither the scars nor the healing gunshot wound detracted from its irresistibility at all. "Don't follow."

"Were you looking for me for something other than a spar?"

Oh, so many ways to answer that question, but... really, there was only one. "Nah, mate. Just thought you might want to blow off some steam in the pub. Like I said, no worries."

But at that, the seppo brightened. "You're on. Gimme twenty minutes?"

This time, the grin wasn't forced, but it still sort of hurt. "Fifteen. Or I'll have Tendo cut off the hot water."

"You're a cold bastard, Hansen."

"It's fucking Alaska, Becket. All the bastards here are cold."

Laughing, Raleigh headed for the showers, and Chuck couldn't help but smile at the sound of it. It wasn't necessarily hard to make the seppo laugh, but it was still such a rare and beautiful thing that he couldn't help savoring it. And being pleased that it was Chuck making him laugh, not Mako.

He was in so much trouble. God help him.


	25. Chapter 25

Everything was happening too fast. Chuck stood at the bank of monitors again, this time hovering over Mako's shoulder instead of Tendo's. It hadn't even been a full day since they came up with the damn plan, but the Kaidanovskys had insisted on setting out directly after exiting the marshal's office yesterday afternoon, and the Weis had set off with Newt and Tendo in tow at false dawn this morning.

It felt like a thunderstorm was swirling over their heads, backbuilding and brewing until it was ready to loose its bag of winds and its quiverful of lightnings at them.

Raleigh was at his side, even more tense, if possible. The seppo stood with his legs braced apart and his arms crossed, staring fixedly at the array and listening intently to every update over the comm. Even the fact that Yancy had come through surgery in seemingly good condition -- though Newt insisted on keeping him sedated for a few days, just to be safe -- couldn't comfort the poor bastard. Ol' Cap felt responsible for whatever happened today, and nothing would change that.

"The Kaidanovskys are in position." Mako's voice was calm and collected, as usual. "B Group is nearly at the standby point. Three minutes or less."

Herc paced, and Chuck was tempted to tell the old man to sit down and quit making everyone nervous, but he knew it wasn't the constant pacing that was flicking everyone on the raw. Grimacing, he shot a glance at Pentecost, Mr. Fixed Point himself, and found the former marshal as stone-faced as ever, standing at parade rest with his hands loosely clasped behind his back. It was... reassuring, in its way.

"B Group ready. Kaidanovskys are go."

Everyone tensed. Time seemed to stand still or even go in fucking reverse, for all that it stretched out forever with no word.

Then, loud and triumphant over the comms and in every headset's earpiece came the booming sound of Aleksis Kaidanovsky's laughter. "Today is a good day to die!"

An explosion over the comm caused everyone to duck reflexively and grab at their wounded ears.

Chuck's fingers gripped the back of Mako's chair. "Talk to us, Mori. Are they taking the bait?"

Mako studied the array for a long moment, then smiled thinly. "Yes. The Kaiju forces we can track are scrambling. B Group, you are go. A Group, withdraw in stages as planned."

The only sounds on that channel were another explosion, Aleksis' maniacal thunder-laughter, and a truly impressive litany of scattered Russian that could only be Sasha methodically cursing every single Kaiju security grunt in sight. And their ancestors.

Chuck couldn't help smirking savagely.

"B Group has entered the facility." Mako's soothingly placid voice brought him back to the present. "Tendo is already fishing. Weis standing by."

Another explosion over the Kaidanovskys' channel.

"Still fishing. A Group, are you withdrawing? I don't see movement."

Chuck bent down over her shoulder, looking at the display she was frowning at. He pointed at two green dots in a swarm of red ones. "That's them?"

"Unless they lost their trackers, yes." Something flashed on another console, drawing her attention. "Tendo is in. Running decryption now. Standing by."

Herc bent forward and took hold of the main mike. "Group A, are you withdrawing?"

The comm pumped out sounds of battle -- screaming, gunfire, the occasional smaller explosive flump of a grenade -- and both Kaidanovskys were clearly audible, but neither seemed willing or able to respond directly. Chuck fidgeted, wanting to be there. This was what he'd trained for. Why hadn't he insisted on going with them?

Raleigh shifted, crossing his arms the opposite way and gritting his jaw.

"Wait, they're moving." Mako's voice lost some of its careful tranquility as she pointed at the array. "They are outside and headed for their submersible." She returned her attention to the other monitor. "Still decrypting. It seems there are several layers of protection."

Suddenly, Raleigh jerked forward and pointed at a big red dot moving right for the Kaidanovskys' signals. "What the hell is that?"

Mako took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "That is a drone."

"Fuck." Chuck, too, leaned down, planting his hands on the console and watching with growing frustration. "They don't have time to get to the sub, do they?"

Mako's lips pinched together. "No."

Gritting his jaw, he shot a look at Herc, who could only look back with the same frustrated helplessness. The sounds of battle from the Kaidanovskys' comm channel seemed to fade, but that only added to the sense of a monster storm brewing and ready to explode overhead. All the little red dots that had been swarming around the two lonely green ones pulled back into the building.

The drone was in range. Its .50 cals were a lot louder over the comm than the small arms and full auto gunfire from before.

Eyes blazing, Chuck jerked away from the console and grabbed his old man by the shoulder. "Jesus, we can't just stand here and listen to them die!"

"Are any of those old Apaches gassed and ready?"

He shot a glare at Raleigh. "The fuck are a bunch of helicopters gonna do against a drone, Ray?"

Captain Fucking America finally looked away from the red-versus-green battle on the array, and Chuck nearly backed away from the battle rage in those electric blue eyes. "Nothing. But they can rescue the Kaidanovskys while Gipsy keeps the drone busy."

If Chuck hadn't already been in deep for the fucking septic that had mock-abducted him, he'd have damn well fallen for him right then. Mako stood away from the controls, but Chuck grabbed her shoulder and urged her back down, his eyes never leaving Raleigh's.

"Mind the comm, Mori. I got this." He nodded once and savored the return nod. " _We_ got this."

Herc said something, as did Stacker, but neither pilot had any use for words. Now was the time for action. As one, they ran out the door toward the hangars.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for an FYI, the MOAB is officially titled Massive Ordnance Air Blast (or, more fondly, Mother Of All Bombs), and was the most powerful non-nuclear weapon of all time... until the Russians came up with the FOAB, the Father Of All Bombs (the official title is... ponderous).

"This isn't a fucking bike, Ray. You sure you're ready?"

Chuck hadn't worn pilot gear for a damn long time, and the mask felt more constrictive than helpful, but he couldn't help but feel like a badass as he ran the flight check. His adrenaline was pumping, and he wanted nothing more than to get out there and fuck up a drone.

"I got this." Sure enough, Raleigh's voice in his ear was firm and strong with none of the tightness from the flight test. "Are we hot?"

The last of the check ran, and Chuck grinned fiercely. "System check complete. Everything in the green, five by fucking five."

"Let's do it."

The engines ramped up and Gipsy backed slowly out onto the tarmac. Chuck's pulse leapt, but not in fear. He was in Gipsy Fucking Danger with Raleigh Fucking Becket, and if someone had told him at sixteen that this moment would ever happen... well, he didn't know what he'd have done, but he was pretty sure ejaculation of some sort would have been involved.

But he kept that little tidbit to himself.

"Tarmac's clear. Takeoff in three... two... one."

The engines screamed, and even Chuck had to admit that they sounded like a banshee howling in his ears, but nary a single "fuck" murmured over the comm. Whatever had triggered the poor bastard before had apparently been firmly buried. This Raleigh Becket had absolutely negative fucks to give for panic attacks.

Gipsy rocketed forward, chasing the end of the black ribbon stretching off into the white, and Chuck felt his heart lodge in his throat as her wheels left the ground. Fucking beautiful.

The comm babbled in his ear, but he ignored most of it in favor of keeping an eye on the gauges and staring at the sky cradling them and lifting them up. It had been a small eternity since he'd been in the air, and he hadn't known how much he missed it. Of course, now wasn't exactly the time for that kind of appreciation, but he couldn't help but feel it, all the same.

"Engaging 'Codename: Otachi' in ten minutes and counting. Tracking on, Hansen?"

He eyed the LEDs. "Affirmative. Bogey's still out over the target island in a cover pattern. A Group must have found some cover, but they're pinned down about a kilometer from the sub. Choppers are go. Let's give 'em some distraction, yeah?"

"Roger that."

Honestly, he wasn't sure how Raleigh kept from doing flips or something. Then again, considering how far drone tech had advanced, the seppo was probably saving his tricks for the battle. The Becket brothers in their prime had damn near been aerial ballet, and Chuck couldn't wait to see how much fuck-you-physics Raleigh still had in him.

"Guns ready?"

"Ready and hot."

"Five minutes and counting. The fucker should've scanned us by now and oughtta be coming up on our two o'clock."

Chuck eyed the LED screens, but, though the drone's signature had stopped its cover pattern, it didn't seem to be coming their way. But something....

"Fuck, Ray -- incoming, two o'clock!"

Not questioning, Raleigh heeled them over just as a missile streaked by under their right wing. The drone hadn't moved.

"It's firing blind. We're not in effective range yet."

"Engaging Otachi in two minutes and counting."

"Incoming, straight up noon."

Raleigh pulled up on the stick, seeming to gauge the missile's trajectory by sight and skim just overhead, and Chuck smirked. Five years of rust or no, the fucker really was a natural.

"Engaging in thirty seconds."

"I see it at one o'clock, Ray. Fucking dazzle me."

"Can do."

The drone hovered for a moment, then was suddenly in motion, incoming on a collision course and accelerating entirely too damn fast. Of course, Raleigh Fucking Becket had no problem with a good game of chicken.

"Hansen, strafe 'im low in three... two... one."

He squeezed the trigger, and the .50 cals roared loose just as Raleigh hauled up on the stick, taking them over the drone's sleek nose. They passed close enough that Chuck watched the bullet holes appear in the tar-black hide. As the seppo banked to come back around, Chuck felt the first moment's... not fear, but concern. This drone wasn't like the ones he'd been up against even a few years back. This one looked... damn near alive. More like an overgrown manta ray without a tail than the bulkier jet fighter designs from before.

And that hide. That wasn't metal. It looked almost like skin.

But Raleigh had already come around, and they couldn't afford any distractions. Otachi was fucking _quick_ and instead of being in front of them and banking, like it should be, it had already shot around behind them. Its guns opened up, and Raleigh scooted them side to side, making them harder to hit.

In the back of his focus, Chuck heard Mako directing the choppers to the Kaidanovskys' location. Fucking A.

"Coming up fast, Ray. Shake him loose. Gimme something to shoot at."

"On it."

Chuck yelped as the bastard yoked them into a falling barrel roll, the ocean below coming up -- then down, then up, then down -- with stomach-churning quickness. The drone followed, not that the LEDs helped when up and down were no longer a constant, but ceased fire as it maneuvered. Just as a nice, refreshing dip seemed inevitable, Raleigh hauled back on the stick and pulled them out of the roll, skimming so close to the waves that the canopy caught the spray.

"Fuck, Ray -- warn me next time."

"Thought I did. Hold on."

Gipsy's nose suddenly pointed to the sky, and the steep climb shoved Chuck back into his seat. For the first time, he really felt the G-forces, even as the rig lost speed with its ascent.

"Now, Hansen!"

Almost on reflex, Chuck squeezed the trigger as Gipsy leveled out and the drone shot by beneath them, apparently unable or unprepared to slow as fast as the ascent had slowed them. More bullet holes riddled that freaky hide, and Chuck couldn't help but whoop with pure adrenaline.

"You're a fucking wizard, Becket!"

Damn if that wasn't a little chuckle, though the bastard didn't deign to comment. Chuck returned his attention to the LEDs. Unfortunately, he'd lost visual and the fucker was moving too fast to reliably track onscreen.

"Where'd he go, Ray?"

Suddenly, Mako was in his ear, her voice almost as panicked as when Raleigh had nearly crashed them both. In fact, she was so freaked that he couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Mori, repeat and slow the fuck down. What's the drama?"

"We're reading another signature. You have to get out of there!"

Raleigh grunted. "What do you mean, another signature?"

"Another drone! Raleigh, there are two of them! You have to get out of there!"

Chuck's mouth dried out. There had never been two before. Not at the same time. They were absolutely, positively fucked.

"Is A Group evacked?"

The hesitation was just long enough that they didn't need an answer.

"Hansen? We good?"

"Impress me, Becket."

"On it."


	27. Chapter 27

"Hey, Hansen." Becket's voice sounded unacceptably amused, considering the situation.

"Yes, Becket?" Chuck fucking loved it and didn't bother hiding his own manic amusement.

"Is that a Kaiju installation over on our four o'clock?"

"I believe it is, Becket."

"Good. What say we wreck some shit?"

"Becket! You kiss your brother with that mouth?"

Oh, the smug in that chuckle. "You're just jealous, Hansen."

Since he sort of was, Chuck only smirked. The crazy fucker flying the jet heeled them over to the right and brought the veritable cityscape of one of the inner-perimeter Kaiju facilities into their crosshairs. Sure enough, as they closed in on the installation, a drone dropped into place on their rear, giving chase.

"Otachi on our six, Becket. No sign of 'Codename: Leatherback' yet."

"Oh, he's around. I can feel him."

"That building's getting awful close, Becket."

"Just admiring the square footage."

Smirking, Chuck readied his grip on the trigger, waiting for his moment. Raleigh flipped them to one side, skimming along the outside of the building close enough to shatter all the glass, and Otachi opened fire as they reeled away. Gipsy gained some altitude, but not enough to clear the tallest buildings. Whether or not the drones would fire on their own installation, the structures were handy cover for a little cat and mouse.

"Coming up on our five."

"Fucker's fast." Becket grunted. "Maneuverable as hell, too."

"Not impressing me, Becket."

Sighing, Raleigh swerved around another skyscraper and banked hard, damn near pulling a hairpin turn that put the drone on their eleven. "Strafe 'im."

The guns roared as they shot by on a diagonal, and more bullet holes appeared in Otachi's hide -- and a building that got in the way somehow -- and the drone pulled up so fast it went almost vertical. Chuck craned his neck to watch it as they shot by underneath, then squawked in alarm when he realized it had dropped just as quickly right on their asses.

"Fuck, Ray -- it's right fucking there!"

"That son of a bitch just stole my move." Growling, Raleigh banked them hard right, the left wing actually scraping the edge of an elevated parking lot. "Bitch must pay. Any sign of Leatherback?"

"Fucker's hiding. Mori, is it going after the evac?"

"Negative, but we can't seem to track it. It... moves strangely."

"Well, that's fucking comforting. Let us know if it's gonna shove its guns up our asses, yeah?"

Raleigh snickered but didn't comment.

"Still on our six, Ray, but it's not firing."

"Too much clutter. Apparently, they do care about their installation." He grunted as an honest-to-God radio tower flashed by close enough to damn near feel the waves. "Remember, we're buying time. As much as I'd like to take these fuckers down, we're just running interference."

"Yeah, yeah."

Unfortunately, Otachi had other ideas. As soon as there was only a row of buildings between them and the open ocean, the bitch threw down, and Raleigh was back to sweeping side to side, then climbing to avoid the last structure when it got in the way of his dodging.

"Fuck this. Chuck, on the trigger."

"Don't wait for me."

Otachi seemed to catch onto Raleigh's weaving pattern, and a scatter of bullets chattered up the right side of the plane. Too fucking close.

"How many Gs can you stand, Hansen?"

Chuck swallowed hard. "The fuck are you doing, Ray?"

"Tell me you can handle eight for like fifteen seconds. That's all I need."

"Aw, fuck."

"Good man. Hold onto something."

Unfortunately -- or fortunately, in Chuck's opinion -- whatever Raleigh had planned was shoved aside as another drone dropped from out of fucking nowhere damn near right on their nose. Raleigh shouted and shoved the stick forward into a nosedive, and bullets rattled all the way up their spine as they shot under so close that Chuck wasn't sure their tail fin didn't scrape the fucker's belly. His only consolation as he damn near shat himself was that it looked on the LEDs as if the two drones had come within an ace of colliding in the process.

"Leatherback engaged."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Okay, change in plans. We gotta play these fuckers off each other or they're gonna rip us to shreds."

"They're flanking us, Ray. Tell me we're not fucked."

Grunting, Raleigh rolled them right and led the chase back toward the installation, but Chuck knew it was just a stall tactic to buy them time to think.

"What's our ordnance?"

"Six Sidewinders and a MOAB in the breach."

"Holy shit, they can fit a MOAB in a jet now?"

"You are so fucking old. Can you please focus?"

Raleigh snorted but squirted around a building and pulled up the nose, taking them up into the fight again. "Sidewinders ready. Fuckers are too fast to chase. We'll have to anticipate. Tell me when they split."

"The fuck? Why would they--" He blinked down at the LEDs as the two red dots on their tail shot out wide to three and nine. "You really are a fucking wizard."

"They're gonna go front and back again. When I tuck left, gimme a three-count and let fly."

"Ready when you are."

Leatherback settled at their noon, .50 cals roaring, and Raleigh heeled left. Chuck grunted, again feeling the G-forces, but dutifully counted to three then loosed the first Sidewinder. To his amazement, Leatherback crashed right into the missile, having zigged when Gipsy did and run right fucking into it.

Chuck whooped, but, though the Sidewinder did far more damage than the guns, it seemed to just piss the drone off, and Otachi was still right on their ass, guns blazing.

"Hold on."

Gipsy's nose shot up again, and Chuck groaned as he flattened back in the seat, but it was worth it to see Otachi strafing Leatherback as Gipsy all but disappeared between them.

"Ready Sidewinder."

"Say the word."

Chuck watched the LEDs feverishly, and if he wasn't mistaken, Leatherback wasn't quite as agile as it had been when it dropped in on them. Smirking, he set his grip and waited for his cue.

"Barrel roll. We're gonna shoot the gap."

Fuck.

His smirk vanished, but he didn't let go of the trigger as the spin began. The drones lined up at eleven and one, which was entirely too fucking close for a corkscrew, but he had long since stopped wondering whether or not Becket could piss in physics' eye.

"Guns first. Spread 'em out. On my word, drop the Sidewinder."

Chuck didn't answer. He didn't have to. The red dots revolving on the LEDs came closer and closer, a stray bullet pinging off Gipsy's hull every now and again, but Raleigh didn't fucking blink.

"Guns."

The .50 cals stuttered, and the drones split wide as the corkscrew sprayed bullets every which way. Suddenly, they were upright and, instead of shooting the gap, Raleigh banked them into a gut-churning right that put Leatherback right in their crosshairs.

"Fox two."

Chuck let fly. Raleigh yanked the stick and hauled them up and over.

Direct fucking hit.

Apparently, that wasn't enough for Raleigh, who rolled them midair in an even worse bank and pointed Gipsy's nose right down at the smoking, flaming hole in Leatherback's flank.

"Fox two, fox two! One after the other! Empty the fucking clip!"

Chuck let the Sidewinders drop as fast as they'd go, and all fucking four found their way into Leatherback's falling corpse. Raleigh hollered hoarsely as the last one popped and the wreckage fell into the ocean below, and Chuck didn't even try not to join in.

"One fucking down!"

Laughing, Raleigh pulled them out of the dive and headed back toward the city with Otachi falling in on their six.

"Fucking one to go, Hansen!"

Which was when Otachi quit messing about and slammed up under them hard enough to knock them for a loop.


	28. Chapter 28

"Fuck fuck fuck--"

"I got it, I got it." Sure enough, though it felt like Gipsy was skating around on ice instead of free air, Raleigh soon got her under control and leveled out. "Cinch up your panties, Hansen."

"Fuck off, Becket. Where the hell'd she go?"

"She'll tell us soon enough. For now...." The whacker didn't finish but kicked on the afterburners just long enough to reach the relative cover of the cityscape again. "What's our ammo situation?"

Chuck glanced down at the ammo counter and felt himself pale. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

Silence, then: "Duly noted. New plan. Remember that question about how many Gs you can pull?"

"Becket...."

"What's our maximum altitude?"

His stomach clenched. "What the fuck are you planning?"

"Chuck, we're gonna top out a helluva lot sooner than she will, and she fucking knows it. If we lead that bitch up, she's gonna try to bump us again, and we'll have a shot."

Gritting his teeth as buildings whipped by so close he could almost taste them, Chuck grunted. "A shot at fucking what? Tasting the goddamn rainbow?"

"Do you trust me?"

Fuck. "All right, goddammit, what do you need me to do?"

"Just tell me when we're 5K below maximum altitude and keep your finger on the drop button. And Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be a hero. If you start to black out, tell me so I can transfer controls. There's no shame in tapping out when we're pulling that many Gs, got it? We only have one shot at this."

"I got your back, Becket. You give me the shot, and I'll take it."

"Good man. Let's do this."

Saying a prayer for the first time since he was in single digits, Chuck settled back into his seat and tried not to hold his breath. Gipsy's nose shot up, and there was nothing but gorgeous blue sky all around them as they climbed. He had a pretty good idea of what Raleigh had in mind, but... fuck it. Maybe Aleksis Kaidanovsky was right and this _was_ a good day to die.

He hoped they got out okay. And the Weis. And Newt and Tendo.

"Hey, Becket?"

"Hey what?"

He grinned a little, even as the pressure crushed him back into his seat. "It's been a pleasure."

Raleigh's pleased grin showed through in his voice. "Back atcha, Chuck. You're the best hostage I ever took."

"Fuck off, and also shut up. Passing thirty thousand feet."

Still they climbed, and just as he started to wonder where the fuck Otachi had gone, she blipped onto his LEDs on their six, just like Raleigh said she would. He really was a fucking wizard.

He grinned. "We got company."

"We brought her a present and everything." A moment's pause, then: "How we doin', Hansen?"

"Forty thousand feet." He squeezed his hands and frowned. "Fingers are a little numb, but I still have control."

"Just a little further. Stay with me, Chuck."

"I'm here." The red blip on his LEDs suddenly shot closer. "She's making her move, Ray."

"Almost there. You ready?"

"It's now or never, Becket. Fifty-five thousand feet and counting."

Raleigh whooped. "Drop the fucker down her throat!"

Chuck smirked. "I love it when you talk dirty."

He opened the breach and hit the MOAB release even as Raleigh hauled back on the stick and flipped Gipsy up and over. Otachi had no time to dodge; it was damn near point blank. For a breathless eternity before the explosion, Chuck realized he was looking up at Earth and could actually see the curvature of the planet as they flew upside down over it.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The MOAB detonated like the Judgment, the shockwave flinging Gipsy like a butterfly in a tornado. Wreckage pelted them, sounding like a hail of gunfire, and Raleigh shouted wordlessly as he wrestled with the stick, trying to bring them back under control.

Chuck's lungs felt like they wanted to squeeze up through his throat, and his heart thundered almost out of his chest, black spots blotting out the hell happening outside the canopy. All he could think was _don't pass out don't pass out if Raleigh carks it you have to take over so don't pass out_.

Then, miraculously, they rolled upright, the rig groaning as Raleigh tried to hold her steady. Chuck's vision cleared enough that he realized the right wing was on fire in places -- though those fires were quickly snuffed by the lack of oxygen this high up -- and the whole left side looked like it had been painted flat black at some point and that the ride wasn't as smooth as it had been when they took off. But... unless he missed his guess... they were fucking alive and descending in a controlled arc rather than a flaming death spiral.

"Chuck? Chuck?? You still with me, man? Talk to me!"

"Five by five, mate." Though his voice was less jubilant than it felt because he still couldn't catch his breath. "Otachi?"

"You tell me. You're the one with all the gadgets. They just give me the stick."

A laugh coughed out of him, and he studied the LEDs with bleary eyes. "I got nothing. Mori? You still on this line?" A burst of shouts and cheers over the comm nearly deafened him, and he grunted. "Oi, fuck -- I was talking to Mako, ya buncha noisy fucks!"

"I think that's probably answer enough." Raleigh sounded both exhausted and amused. "How are A and B Group?"

Out of nowhere, Herc's voice rumbled into his ears, and the sheer relief and pride in it twisted something in Chuck's chest. It wasn't a bad feeling at all.

"They're _en route_ and accounted for. Just get back here, boys. Drinks are on me tonight, yeah?"

"Yessir."

Chuck grinned. "Yessir."

So, wobbling slightly and still smoking around the edges, Gipsy wove her way home.


	29. Chapter 29

The howling horde descended upon them before their feet even touched the hangar floor, and Chuck had to physically grab onto the back of Raleigh's armor to not be separated in the crush. His adrenaline still pumped from sheer fucking awesome, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he crashed harder than that bastard Leatherback had, and he didn't want to do it without telling Raleigh Fucking Becket exactly how badass a wizard he was.

The crowd surged them away from Gipsy and toward the main bay doors, hooting and shouting, though Chuck couldn't make out a single word. Thankfully, the doors were already open, or the well-meaning fucks might have crushed their mighty heroes against them.

"Chuck! Raleigh!"

Dodging around a tech, Chuck yanked at his grip on the seppo's flight suit just enough to haul Becket's ear within hearing range. "Dad! See if you can push left!"

Somehow, ol' Cap managed to ride the wave of adulation that direction until they emptied out into a little clearing around Herc, Mako, and Pentecost, who all looked sufficiently chuffed. Chuck finally loosed his grip, though he stayed within snatching distance in case the crowd surged again.

Herc opened his mouth, but Pentecost beat him to it.

"Gentlemen, in all my years of piloting, I've never seen _anything_ like that." A beneficent smile. "Well done."

Herc nodded, his eyes lingering on Chuck, who was too damn tired to flush and hide from the ridiculous sentiment on his father's face. "I'm proud of you." That too-much gaze widened to include Raleigh. "Proud of you both."

Raleigh beamed, though he was already paling, his energy waning as the thrill of the victory wore off. "The Kaidanovskys?"

Mako answered. "Alive and in the med bay. They are in serious condition, but not critical." She smiled, and it made her radiant. "And they are grateful."

The seppo's head lowered, and he sucked in a deep breath. Of relief, Chuck was sure.

"The Weis?"

She nodded. "All alive. The mission was successful, though we won't know how successful until we've collated the information gathered."

Herc broke in. "Two of them are also in the med bay, but they're fine. Just the usual battle damage. Newt should probably get checked out, but he dragged Gottlieb off to start analyzing something that caught his eye."

Raleigh nodded. "Tendo?"

Herc smirked. "I think he singed his bowtie."

Chuck snickered. Unfortunately, exhaustion had set in with a vengeance, and he estimated he had about ten minutes before falling facedown wherever he stood. His knees had already picked up a definite wobble.

"Speaking of things singed, I dunno about the septic, here, but I need a bloody shower." He smirked and thunked Becket on the back. "Not sure I didn't shit myself at some point."

The statement brought a quiet thunder of laughter.

Herc nodded and made shooing gestures at the nearest beaming well-wishers. "Right, right, whatever you need. Shower, eat, get some rest, but I meant what I said: drinks are on me tonight. You boys done good."

Chuck grabbed on again, just in case, but the crowd seemed more willing to let them pass this time, especially when Herc bellowed for someone to get that black shit off Gipsy's hide and do something about the goddamn bullet holes. Raleigh led the way directly to the showers, but his steps were heavy and dragging.

Not that Chuck's were any more spry. God, he was so tired.

When they cleared the last of the stragglers, he let go and scooted up a step to walk at ol' Cap's side, smiling even through his exhaustion. He had about a million things to say, but right now, he was pretty sure he'd sound like a mental, so he simply walked along, proud but too tired to puff up over it.

Once they reached the showers, they wearily helped each other out of the armored part of their flight suits, then headed for separate stalls to peel away that last, sweat-soaked layer.

"Ugh. I feel like the floor of a sewage overflow plant."

Chuck snorted, though he felt much the same as the weird, almost spongy material squished when he stripped it away from his skin. "So you pissed yourself, too?"

"Fuck you, Hansen." But the seppo was smirking, Chuck knew. "But in all honesty, that was fucking amazing. I could not have done it without you."

Chuck's mouth opened on a question, but even exhausted, his sense of what was okay and what was soul-gougingly offensive hadn't completely left him, so he didn't actually ask if Raleigh could have done it with Yancy. Instead, he forced a grin so Becket would hear it in his voice.

"Too right, mate, and don't you forget it." The grin firmed and became a genuine expression. "And in equal honesty, Raleigh, you just fucked physics, its sister, _and_ its mum, all in one flight."

Raleigh let out a clearly astonished snort of laughter. "I think that's a compliment, right?"

"Damn straight. I will never again question the size of your balls, mate. Each one puts the world to shame."

Another snort, but this one sounded less gobsmacked. "Your compliments are weird."

"Eh, they get the point across. Now, less talking, more showering, yeah?"

That first spray of gloriously hot water felt like heaven, and he groaned as he tilted his face up into it. Lazing in the blessed heat, he damn near fell asleep until some asshole cleared his throat out in the open area.

"Sorry, sirs, but it occurred to Marshal Hansen that you two might want your clothes here instead of in the in the hangar changing room. I'll just leave them out in the locker room, okay?"

"Hey, thanks." Raleigh sounded damn near drugged, but also genuinely grateful.

Chuck just murmured something vaguely appreciative and let it go. At least he wouldn't have to walk so far in just a towel.

Sighing, he decided to be productive before he fell asleep under the spray and reached for a wash cloth and some soap. He scrubbed away the grit and sweat of one fuck of a battle, both bone-weary and grinning at the victory. They'd eighty-sixed two -- count 'em, _two_ \-- drones today. It had been years since a group of fighter jets could take on one, but they'd taken out _two_.

And all because of Raleigh Fucking Becket. The fucker was magic.

Speaking of magic fuckers, the stupidly gorgeous seppo finished first and headed for the other room with a quiet murmur that Chuck couldn't make out over the rush of the water. He muttered something in response, but he wasn't done luxuriating yet. The steam in the stall was pleasantly blinding and felt like a physical manifestation of bliss, so he closed his eyes and braced his feet apart and just let himself drift, his head falling back.

Perfect. Somehow, everything had worked out perfectly. They weren't done -- not by a long stretch -- but he had looked Death in the eye and laughed at the dumbass expression on Its face when he snatched himself out of reach. Well, when Raleigh snatched them both out of reach.

Sighing and actually swaying on his feet now, he reluctantly cranked off the shower, then reached out for two towels -- one for his body and one for his hair. Most of the fatigue ache had faded to a lull, but he was still tired as hell.

"You okay in there?"

Grinning a little, he ambled out into the locker room and shook his head to find Raleigh already dressed in fatigues and one of those godawful sweaters, his hair damp but already drying around the edges.

"I'll have you know that I could have stayed in there another half hour, and no one would have said a word about it."

The seppo grinned like a sunrise. "Not today, they wouldn't."

"Fuckin' A." He bent to dig through the pile for his boxer briefs, then shot the bloke a look. "What, you're gonna watch?"

Not that he minded, of course.

But Raleigh only rolled his eyes and shifted to face the opposite way on the bench. "Did you have any idea we could do that?"

He tossed aside the last towel and dressed as quickly as his weariness allowed, then sat to pull on his socks with a grunt. "Nah, mate. Guess it stands to reason, though. You and Yancy were the best in your time, and me and Dad were the best in mine. Surely we at least wouldn't crash and burn right out the gate." He grinned a little. "You can turn back now. I'm decent."

"Chuck?"

Dammit, but lacing boots up over tucked fatigues was hard when his fingers didn't want to work. "Yeah, mate?"

"Thank you."

That wasn't the same tone at all. Chuck's eyebrows rose, and he looked up from his boots to meet those serious, dark blue eyes.

"Thank you for trusting me not to fuck it all up and get you killed. You didn't have to. I know I don't have the best record."

His own expression as serious as it had ever been, Chuck shook his head. "Fuck your record, Ray. One look, and I knew you meant to tear Otachi a new asshole. What else was there to do but sign up?"

The darkness lightened a little, and Raleigh quirked that soft grin. "Now, see? _That_ was a compliment. Was that so hard?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and went back to his boots, hiding a grin. "Never fucking satisfied."

Finally, he stood, stretched, and hauled on his coat. It wasn't exactly frigid in the Shatterdome, but it _was_ a big metal building in the middle of fucking Alaska, so there was always a bit of a chill in the air. Raleigh stood and stretched, too, looking disgustingly good in a sweater that was too ugly to even have a color, and Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to stare.

Something....

Grinning a little, he pulled the chain from his pocket and twisted his hand until the dogtags laid the right way for him to read the name. Raleigh Fucking Becket.

"Huh. Forgot I had these."

Raleigh glanced over, then sighed. "I was sort of wondering what happened to them."

"I guess I just stuffed them in here and...." His grin faded, and he looked at the bloke with genuine regret. "Look, Ray... about what I said when--"

Closing his eyes, the seppo cut him off gently. "It's okay, Chuck. You didn't know."

He shook his head and stepped closer, flipping the dogtags up to his palm and closing his fingers over them. "It's not okay. I never apologized for saying what I did, and that's bullshit." He swallowed hard. "I am so sorry for even once thinking your actions killed your brother, let alone saying it outright. I should've known better. And I never should have said it, even if I had known."

Raleigh didn't speak, so Chuck did the only thing he could think of: stepped closer still and held out the stupid dogtags still painted with a dried splotch of blood from their fight. The poor bastard looked down at them, his jaw working, then shook his head.

"You've had them this long, and we're still alive." He glanced up, forcing a shadow of his grin. "Maybe you're good luck."

It was a bad idea. Even as Chuck contemplated it, he knew it was a bad idea. Unfortunately, he couldn't help himself.

He leaned forward just enough, tilted his face just so, and brushed a light kiss over that forced grin. Then, because that light touch could never have been enough, he did it again and lingered.

It still wasn't much of a kiss, but it shot a current straight through him, and when Raleigh gasped and backed away, Chuck was too caught up in the sensation to follow. Instead, he slowly blinked his eyes open and felt his mouth quirk on a soft grin.

Of course, the expression on Raleigh's face was a far cry from a soft grin. As Chuck blinked away his muzzy stupor, he could only be grateful that Raleigh wasn't straight up furious. Instead, the poor bloke looked confused and a little shocked. It was... adorable, but not inviting at all.

Then, the seppo blinked, backed another step, and cleared his throat. "I... uh...." Another blink, and Raleigh started to turn away.

Chuck's stomach sank, and he wanted more than anything to take that moment back. Why the hell hadn't he been satisfied with a fucking epic victory and some mutual congratulations?

"Don't... Chuck, don't look like that. I'm... it's okay. Just...." The poor bastard was damn near stuttering. "I... I'll see you later. At the pub. Okay?"

Choking back an apology he wasn't sure wouldn't make things worse, Chuck nodded. "Cheers, mate."

At least the bloke didn't run as he left.

Suddenly, Chuck was fucking exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bunk with his face in his pillow and pass the fuck out for a few hours. He was beginning to think he could fuck up a wet dream. What the hell was he thinking? Hadn't he just been bemoaning how close Raleigh and Mako had seemed to making out right there in the kwoon?

Gritting his teeth, he looked down at the dogtags in his hand. Then, the spurt of irritation washed out on the newest wave of weariness, and he stuffed them back into his pocket. He may well _be_ good luck, but he sure as fuck didn't _have_ good luck.

What a fucking day.


	30. Chapter 30

Herc was too hungover for this shit.

As if it wasn't bad enough to be dragged out of his much-deserved beauty sleep by coked-out-chihuahua Newt at 06:00 the night after the entire Icebox had been rocking until 03:00, now he couldn't help but notice something weird between Chuck and Becket. Well, weird _er_.

After kicking Newt out with orders to not disturb anyone else until at least 09:00 and managing another three hours of recuperation, he had called an emergency meeting of all non-injured personnel in the lab. The first thing he noticed was that, even though Raleigh had arrived early and pulled up a stool to the makeshift conference table, Chuck didn't even consider dragging up another stool, but strolled over to stand by Herc.

Strange, after their rather caustic comradery and the incredible sympatico they'd achieved in Gipsy Danger. Hell, even at the pub, the two had seemed okay as they accepted cheers and shots with equal enthusiasm. But, seeing the bags under the kid's eyes and a wince that suggested one hell of a headache, Herc shrugged it off, assuming it was more that Chuck wasn't quite himself at the moment and was just going through familiar motions. He'd probably go sit by Becket once he got some coffee in him and the meeting started.

Stacker, Mako, and Tendo arrived in short order. Dr. Gottlieb limped out of the specimen room shortly thereafter, followed by Newt, who looked a bit banged up but seemed otherwise unharmed. Just as Herc was about to call the meeting, the lone unharmed Wei brother -- Hu? Or was it Jin? -- strolled in, wincing around the eyes almost as badly as Chuck.

Everyone pulled stools and chairs closer to the conference table, and to Herc's surpise, Chuck scooted his stool right up beside him, sitting at his right like always. He blinked, debating whether or not to say something but competely failing to think of any words to say. Caught between a frown and a question, he shot  a look at Raleigh, only to find the bloke frowning, as well.

Before Herc could figure out what to make of that, said bloke stood off his stool, carried it around the table, and plunked it down right next to Chuck. Herc watched, stymied, as the brat tried to hold onto his thunder. Becket eyed the kid for a minute, then grinned and jabbed him lightly with his elbow.

Chuck grunted, shot the bloke a dark look, then softened and elbowed back.

The hell was all that about?

Shaking his head, he looked around the rest of the diminished group and was relieved that everyone else seemed too hungover to have noticed the bewildering drama and was either staring meaningfully into their coffee cups or rubbing at throbbing heads. Well, everyone but Newt, who was too busy poking excitedly at his tablet to notice anything else.

"Thanks for coming in, folks. I know we could have all used some extra shut-eye, but... Newt?"

"Hm?"

"You wanna take over?"

"Oh. Right." Another few pokes, and the hyper little seppo launched into full swing, oblivious to the winces his ever-higher tones caused. "The Kaiju Underground is way worse than we ever imagined. I mean, I knew we'd get some fascinating stuff, but this... my God. I never even _dreamed_ of some of this stuff. People, if we don't do something, we are well and truly fucked. No dinner and no drinks."

Dr. Gottlieb sighed. "Newton, if I may?"

Herc groaned. "Please."

"Thank you, sir. We've only just begun analysis of the huge volume of data retrieved, but I shall try to condense it down to the most alarming things we've already discovered."

"Perfect. Proceed."

"We spoke before about how the latest victims weren't mutilated but mutated, yes? From what we can tell, those modifications were made in an attempt to allow the human body to...." The doctor gestured, glaringly uncomfortable. "To accommodate... cybernetic parts."

Newt leaned forward, almost falling out of his chair. "It's the drones, just like we thought. The surface changes _were_ just a side effect. The real tweaking was to allow for greater healing and immunity so the bodies could be, honest to God, surgically attached to neurologically interactive jumpseats. Hermann, show 'em."

Herc stared, gobsmacked, as Dr. Gottlieb poked at his tablet and a schematic popped up on the larger display they'd sat at the opposite end of the table. In a strangely tasteful -- if horrifying -- blueprint-style work, a human-shaped figure reclined on what looked like a dentist's chair, tubes and wiring and God only knew what else going in and out, everything either interconnected or strapped down to prevent movement. The worst was the head, which was permanently held in place with a halo arching over the eyes that was bolted -- fucking _bolted_ \-- into the skull.

"These plans are a few years old, so they've probably streamlined it a bit and have definitely improved the technology, but you get the idea." Newt was getting shrill again, but no one had the capacity to wince. "By making crucial changes in both brain chemistry and brain anatomy, they have basically stripped all personality and volition from the subject and turned him into a cyborg capable of piloting a drone through sheer thought transference. His mind is the drone. There's nothing else."

Herc sat down hard. The air felt too thick.

Dr. Gottlieb held up a hand to halt Newt. "Sir, it gets much, much worse. While they have dozens of drones of each new model produced, they have never managed more than one functional pilot at a time. The stripping and alteration process takes too long and is too delicate a procedure. Even now, there are rejections of the implants, infections, or outright death in nearly half the subjects."

"That's why they've only ever sent out one drone at a time." Newt was too excited to stay out for long. "See, the neural bond between the cyborg and the drone is complete. When you kill the drone, you kill the pilot. If they don't have another in development, they're just shit out of luck."

Again, Dr. Gottlieb held up a hand, this time with a pleading look, until Newt sank back onto his stool. "Sir, they didn't have pilots of their own and had no way of training them. Do... you understand what I'm saying?"

Right now, Herc wasn't sure of his own damn name. How the hell had the Kaiju done something like this without it getting out? God, if the world knew, the fucking hands-off UN would be buried in a revolt the likes of which the world had never seen as every nation on the Pacific Rim stood up and fought such an abomination.

"Sir... these cyborg pilots... are _our_ pilots."

At his side, Chuck stiffened and snatched Raleigh by the arm. Feeling slow and stupid, Herc watched them stare at each other in horror.

"Sir, the Kaiju don't care if the subject is alive or clinically dead or even all in one piece. They have systematically collected every pilot or jaeger with piloting experience they could get their hands on, then put them in stasis until they're ready to begin the mutation and implantations." So pale he was nearly translucent, Dr. Gottlieb swallowed hard. "Otachi and Leatherback? Those were the Gage twins, sir. That's... why there were two... for the first time ever. They're... growing more ambitious."

Horror and confusion and God only knew what else swirled around in Herc's head, leaving him dizzy and strangely blank. Such a thing simply could not be. Their own men... their own brothers in arms... to think of them stripped of everything that made them human and heroic, everything but their godforsaken piloting ability....

Dear God. Last night's drinking binge shouldn't have been a celebration. It should have been a fucking wake.

He dragged a hand over his face and forced words to come out of his mouth, hoping to God they made anything like sense. "How do we destroy them?"

"We can't." Thankfully, Newt seemed to understand the pall that had been thrown over every single battle they'd ever fought against the Kaiju. "The drone program is one of many, but it's the most well-protected because it's the most effective and has the most future potential. The headquarters is... well... on the floor of the Pacific Ocean. Hermann?"

Gottlieb silently brought up the appropriate schematic.

Chuck, his voice hoarse with shock, grunted. "These fuckers have a secret underwater evil lair?"

Tendo, who had so far been suspiciously silent, finally spoke up, his voice a far cry from his usual snappy wit. "Newt's not entirely correct, sir. The main headquarters _is_ underwater deep inside the perimeter and pretty much unreachable, but it's connected by an umbilical to the power plant on the island above it." He gestured at the line trending up from the top of the underwater dome."If we could destroy that and the power plant, we would, at the very least, leave them without power and oxygen and maybe even destroy them outright. They're not so deep that a large enough shock wave wouldn't do some real damage."

Yes. Battle. This, Herc could understand. He was a man of action, not of philosophy. "Nukes? We could always see if the Russians could--"

Mako sat forward. "Sir, that is not advisable. Irradiating the Pacific Ocean would cause unimaginable damage to the environment. We might well destroy a Kaiju headquarters and deprive them of their most effective strategy but at the cost of poisoning ourselves and all the innocent people living on the Rim."

Raleigh joined in, his arm still in Chuck's white-knuckled grip. "What about MOABs? How many more of them do we have? They could at least take out the power plant, right?"

Pentecost shook his head slowly, but not as if he fully disagreed. "We have a few more, but I wouldn't risk them having some kind of power backup. We need to destroy the entire facility, if we can." Stacker met Herc's eyes calmly, but even at a distance, Herc saw the horror there. "Didn't the Russians store some FOABs here a few years back?"

Herc grit his jaw. "Yeah, two, but they're too big to fit in an F-27's hold. We scaled down the MOABs to make them more tactical but the FOABs were already smaller. Just... not small enough."

Newt spoke up again, sounding reluctant. "Plus, the Kaiju have a few pilots on the backburner, so to speak. Three, to be exact. There'd almost certainly be another dogfight, but this time, it'd be three against one."

Stacker stood. "Three against two."

Herc shook his head. "Sit down, Stacker. Your body couldn't handle the G-forces from a fight like Gipsy's. You can't fly if you're dead. And you don't have a copilot."

Mako straightened. "Yes, he does." She shot her adoptive father a long, measured look. "And the latest flight suits are equipped with enough compression to shield against up to ten Gs, which is about what Raleigh and Chuck briefly experienced yesterday. Sensei could handle a lesser load for a shorter period of time."

For the first time in Herc's memory, Stacker Pentecost smiled warmly at his daughter. He didn't have to say a word.

Chuck, of course, interrupted the moment, though he probably didn't mean to, by letting Raleigh go and leaning forward over the desk. "That still leaves us short some ordnance. Isn't there some way we could trick the jets out with releasing clamps for the FOABs or something? Jesus, there has to be a way. If we can't nuke 'em, what else do we have?"

Herc frowned in concentration, perversely glad to have a problem he could actually get his mind around, rather than the mind-numbing horror of what the Kaiju had done. "I'll talk to the Kaidanovskys and see if they have any suggestions. We can probably jury-rig something. It only has to work the once, yeah?"

Newt again spoke up, even more reluctantly than before. "Sir, one more thing: they're probably going to expect something."

"How so?"

The strangely subdued seppo shot Tendo a look. "Well... we downloaded an obscene amount of data from their network. They're gonna be able to track that download and know exactly what we got. We didn't even really get a headstart on it because... well, we did get a little ambushed, so they clearly knew someone had broken in. They have to suspect _some_ kind of attack."

It was a valid concern, but Herc shrugged it right the hell off. "Then we'll just have to get a move on then, yeah?"

He started to ask if there was anything else, then realized he already knew. "Tendo?"

"Sir?"

"We're gonna rake this together as soon as we can. If I have my druthers, we'll move on it tomorrow, but I can't make that promise yet." He tightened his jaw. "But no matter when we go, first thing that morning, I want you to leak every goddamn thing you got. I want it on the internet, in every news outlet, and on every goddamn TV station around the world. You can do that, yeah?"

Tendo blinked. "Sir... I mean, yeah, I can do that, but... aren't we covert?"

"Fuck that." He shook his head, his fists clenched. "We're gonna bomb these fuckers back to the Stone Age, and I don't feel like being hunted down by the jackasses at the UN for unprovoked terrorism the next day. We need a goddamn public outrage, and I can't imagine anything more effective than exposing all the soothing lies the UN has been spewing to cover for this kind of... of... _atrocity_. You leak everything. Understood?"

"Yessir."

He nodded. "Good man. Anything I'm missing?"

No one said anything, but Herc suspected that was more because... what the fuck else was there? They would strike a fatal blow or die trying. Either way, the river had damn near run its course.

It was long past time this war ended, one way or the other.

"Dismissed."


	31. Chapter 31

Chuck fiddled about in his bunk for a while, unable to relax. His mind reeled from the horrific infodump it had just received, but he didn't think that was all there was to it.

No. It was Raleigh Fucking Becket. Chuck admitted freely that he was avoiding the bastard, even though said bastard had clearly forgiven him for his overstep.

But Raleigh obviously wanted things to go on as they had before, and Chuck... no longer had that luxury. One kiss and he wanted more, and it wasn't going to happen, and it was just too hard to be around the big dumb gorgeous fuckwit knowing all of that.

Unfortunately, he had no doubt that Raleigh probably needed a distraction right now as much as Chuck himself did, and with Mako closeted in meetings with Pentecost and Herc and with Yancy just now weaning off the meds that kept him under and unlikely to awaken any time soon, there just wasn't anyone else. So, the poor bastard was probably wandering around, lonely and freaking out and aimless.

Sighing, Chuck put aside the Avengers comic he'd only picked up because Captain Fucking America was on the cover and hooked his coat off the chair he'd hung it over. They might all die tomorrow or the next day or whenever they got the jets tricked out, so, like it or not, these were their last hours. He and Raleigh had become too close too fast to spend them apart, no matter what was or wasn't between them.

Of course, the bloke wasn't in his room. Or Yancy's recovery room. Or the kwoon or the mess. Grumbling under his breath, he headed for the hangars, hoping the techs weren't banging about because he really didn't want to talk to anyone but Raleigh right now.

To his surprise, the hangars were silent when he walked in. He looked around, already wondering where Becket would be if not here, then saw the dumbass sprawled out on his back under Gipsy's belly, looking up at her in the silence. He shook his head, then walked over and, without a word, lay down on his back at the seppo's side, just shy of touching. The techs had removed all the blowout smutch, leaving her a denim blue vision splendid again. The bullet holes had either been patched or the panels replaced. The damaged wing looked pristine.

After a long, strangely pleasant quiet, Raleigh finally spoke.

"I have a confession to make."

Chuck raised an eyebrow but didn't turn his head to look. "Do I look like a priest?"

A quiet huff of a laugh. "Not that kind of confession." The bloke paused. Then: "Can you guess what Hannibal Chau wanted in exchange for his help evacuating my brother?"

Frowning and wondering where the hell this had come from or why it constituted a confession, Chuck shrugged. "No idea, mate. Thought you said you were taking that to your grave."

Raleigh shrugged. "We're probably gonna die in the next couple of days." He gestured up at Gipsy's underbelly. "Looks like she'll be my grave, so... here we are."

"True enough." He resisted the urge to scoot closer. "So... what'd he want, then?"

A sigh. "He wanted to fuck me."

Chuck's eyes squeezed shut, and he determinedly kept his mouth shut. It would be all too easy to say exactly the wrong thing here.

"Not in a bad way. I mean, he wasn't trying to humiliate me or hurt me or anything. And Yance had always been sort of equal opportunity, so he must have thought I was the same. It was... a business transaction."

_He must have thought I was the same_. Meaning he wasn't.

Fuck. Raleigh was letting him down easy. Fuck this life.

"He even let me heal up first. My left side was pretty wrecked, and, like I said, it wasn't a power trip or anything. He... I guess he genuinely... wanted me." For the first time, Raleigh sounded embarrassed. Like he couldn't imagine being wanted. "And he tried to make it... enjoyable."

Swallowing hard, he realized that the bloke seemed to require some sort of vocalization at this point. Fuck if he knew what to say, though. "Was it?"

_Fucking hell, Hansen._

The answer was a long time coming. "Not... exactly. But... it might have been. Ya know, if...."

He sighed. "If you liked blokes."

"Yeah."

He closed his eyes again. "But you don't."

"No."

A little silence drew out, and Chuck wondered why the fuck he'd come here in the first place. Yeah, Raleigh had clearly needed to talk, but... fuck. Twist a few more daggers in the chest there, fucking septic.

"But... I like _you_."

He froze, his eyes wide and staring up at Gipsy's gut.

Raleigh swallowed hard. "Chuck, I don't want that to be my last time. I don't want my last memory of... of intimacy... of _connection_ to be... a business transaction. Besides, that was about Yancy. This... this is about me. And you."

_Don't... Ray, don't... I can't take it if you do...._

"I felt something when you kissed me, and... it wasn't just surprise."

Refusing to give in to something that wanted to caper inside him, Chuck slowly sat up, turned his head, and looked down at the bloke that had turned his life upside down in just a few days.

"Raleigh, please don't fuck about on this. Tell me exactly what you're saying because I can't let myself guess."

The gorgeous bastard looked at him steadily. "I'm saying that, if you were planning to go anywhere with that kiss, I want to go with you."

He swallowed hard. "Non-poetry translation, please?"

The fucker actually rolled his eyes, and a flex of those amazing abs under that hideous sweater brought him up to eye level. "You've grown on me like a fungus, and if you want to fuck, I'd be up for it. Clear enough?"

His lips twitched, and he fought to keep from... fuck, he didn't even know. Laughing? Whooping like a lunatic? Jumping the fucker's lovely bones right here under Gipsy's bulk?

Yeah. _Hell_ yeah.

Instead, he twisted his burgeoning manic expression into a smirk. "You really know how to sweettalk a bloke, don'tcha, Ray?"

"You didn't like the poetry."

"Fucking septic."

"Shut up and try the whole kissing thing again, fungus."

_Gladly._


	32. Chapter 32

He had neither the privacy nor the supplies to do everything he wanted to Raleigh in Gipsy's hangar, so before he got too carried away -- and before they looked too much like a couple of horny teenagers who'd been making out in a closet -- Chuck dragged ol' Cap out from under their girl and headed for his bunk.

They had to stop a few times on the way and duck into alcoves or empty rooms, though. Once past the hesitation and awkwardness of voluntarily kissing another man, Raleigh seemed starved for contact and kept pulling Chuck close for another kiss, another press against a wall. Chuck supposed it made sense if the poor bloke really hadn't been laid in five years -- which was, coincidentally, around the same time Chuck had last been with a bloke -- and he damn sure wasn't about to complain.

Chuckling as the seppo tripped backward up the steps to Chuck's bunk, he shut the door behind them and cranked the lock. God help anyone who tried to disturb them. Unless a dozen drones were flying toward the Icebox, the rest of the world could go fuck itself for the immediate future.

He had better things to do.

First things first, his coat and that fucking sweater had to go. "One of these days...." He paused for another kiss. "I'm gonna burn all your sweaters, Ray."

Raleigh tossed the offending pile of ragged yarn aside and grinned a little, his hair wrecked and his cheeks flushed. "They're comfortable. Deal with it."

The bloke leaned back in, but Chuck put a restraining hand on his chest and forced himself to look serious for a moment. "Before we get carried away, mate, just...." He considered his wording, then decided to just blurt it out. "If at any point, you don't want this, say so, yeah? We'll stop. No questions, no hard feelings. I want that right out up front."

Raleigh's head tilted to one side, his expression equally serious. "That's... actually kinda sweet. Thanks, man." Then, kiss-flushed lips tipped into a crooked grin. "But I want this, so don't worry about it."

He was tempted to belabor the point, but the bastard chose that moment to press close again and kiss him, open-mouthed and a little rough and absolutely perfect. Chuck felt the contact all the way down to his toes, and he groaned softly as he let his hand trace down over those amazing abs, wanting the wifebeater out of the way. He twisted his fingers in it and pulled, untucking it so his other hand could stroke up the bare skin.

Raleigh gasped a little, so he thrust his tongue into the open mouth and hmm-ed in appreciation. The gorgeous bastard felt like warm satin over living marble, and it had been a damn long time since he'd had his hands on anything resembling that combination.

Pulling back until just their lips touched, he murmured, "Arms up, mate."

Obligingly enough, the bloke raised his arms so Chuck could strip the clingy cotton away, and there was the torso that had so grabbed his attention before he'd had any inkling what the hell he was getting into. Sighing, he stroked his fingertips over all that chiseled muscle, then settled his left hand on a carved oblique and traced his right thumb over the scars marring that perfect flesh.

Although "marring" probably wasn't the right word. Somehow, the broken, jagged lines only added to the overall appeal.

Raleigh shifted closer at the gentle touch. "Chuck...."

Something about the tone was a little too much, and he racked his brain for something snarky to keep the mood light. Considering how long it had been for both of them, the whole endeavor would be a feat of patience he wasn't sure he had, and getting too... fraught... this early in wouldn't do either of them any good.

But he couldn't help the little thrill up his spine at his name on a breathless whisper.

Sighing, he traced his mouth over Raleigh's jaw. "You planning on just standing around for this, Ray?"

A breathless sort of laugh huffed out. "I'd take off your shirt, but I think you deliberately order them two sizes too small."

Raising an eyebrow, he pulled back enough to eye the drongo warily. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Smirking a little, the bloke had the nerve to poke him in the chest. "Meaning if you're gonna run around with forty extra pounds of solid muscle, you might want to have changed your shirt size sometime in the past five years."

Chuffed and not bothering to hide it, he stripped out of his t-shirt and flexed a little. "At least I'm not hiding my light under a bushel, Sweater Boy."

He expected to get a laugh out of that one, but Becket seemed suddenly enthralled and reached out to ghost his fingers over Chuck's chest, the touch so light it raised goosebumps all up his arms. He sucked in a deep breath, then reached up to gently snatch the fingers tormenting him. Raleigh shook his head and met his eyes, looking a little dazed.

Forcing a breathy laugh, Chuck grinned. "Tickles."

The daze cleared, and a disgustingly adorable blush stained the seppo's cheeks. "Sorry. Just... even your chest hair's red." He tugged his hand loose, then placed the warm palm over the curve of his chest and stroked up over his shoulder to pull him closer. "And you have freckles."

Now _his_ cheeks were hot, and he grunted, though this touch felt damn good. "Yeah, yeah. At least I have chest hair. What, do you wax or something, _Raaaa_ leigh?"

Smirking, the smarmy fuck didn't bother answering but leaned in for another good, hard kiss. Strong hands stroked down his back, Raleigh seeming to gauge just how much strength he could use. As far as Chuck was concerned, he could use it all. There was just something... different... about a bloke's grip, a bloke's touch. It set a whole different set of nerves thrumming.

A shuddering sort of shiver rolled through him, and he wrapped his arms around Raleigh's back, giving him a bit of his own strength. He dragged his fingertips down that flexing muscle to the small of his back, then debated if Raleigh was ready for a good grope.

One way to find out.

He slid his hands down and gripped a double handful of firm all-American ass, pulling their bodies together at the hips. Gasping again, Raleigh arched against him, and Chuck smirked as he realized the bastard was more than a little interested in the goings-on. Groaning, probably from the feel of Chuck's own growing erection, the bloke arched again, and the kiss turned positively raunchy.

Too fast. Chuck tried to tell himself to slow down, to not get ahead of himself, but with Raleigh Fucking Becket sucking on his lower lip and the maddening sense of all that heated muscle still hidden away, he couldn't help but be swept along. Panting and kissing sloppily, he ran his hands around to the bastard's belt and fly, his fingers fumbling and tugging. Finally, he managed to work all the stupid catches and shoved his hand down inside, getting a handful of throbbing heat through the stretching cotton of Raleigh's boxer briefs.

Raleigh seemed to stop breathing, his head tilting back. Undeterred, Chuck moved his mouth down the bared column of throat, tasting the light sweat that sheened the pale skin, pressing his tongue to the throbbing pulse. His hand flexed, and the bloke managed a soft, groaning sort of whimper, his hands tight on Chuck's back.

Reminding himself that it had been five years since anyone but Raleigh had grabbed that particular yoke -- and that that experience hadn't exactly been a fond one -- Chuck gentled his touch and stroked. _Now_ the poor bloke breathed, his breath falling out of him and his head lolling forward to bury his face in Chuck's neck. Grinning, the frantic pace effectively slowed down to bullet time, Chuck savored the moment, the feel of this crazy bastard that had tripped headlong into his life trembling against him, warm breath panting against his neck.

Then, Raleigh sucked in a harsh breath and jerked his hands to the front of Chuck's fatigues, not moving his face from the crook of Chuck's neck.

"Ray--"

He felt the cheek against his throat heat on a blush, but the bastard managed his fly far better than Chuck had, and with a careful pull and push, both trousers and boxer briefs were down to his thighs, and Raleigh took a good grip on Chuck's naked erection and stroked. Chuck's knees damn near buckled, his head falling back on an embarrassingly loud moan.

" _Fuuuuuck_."

Another stroke, and hot breath fanned his neck as Raleigh let out a quiet chuckle. "It's different when it's someone else's."

Oh, he wanted a witty comeback -- maybe something about his carpet matching the drapes, since the daffy whacker had seemed so fascinated by his chest hair -- but the only thought in his mind was about Raleigh Fucking Becket's hand on his cock, stroking like he was trying to find every single sensitive spot and use it against him. He did manage a groaning vocalization in his throat, but that was about it.

Seemed to do the trick, though. The erection in his hand twitched and swelled, and, reminded that he'd been doing something before the blood left his brain for all points south, he gave up on keeping any kind of control over the pace and reached down inside the boxer briefs to get a handful of naked.

This time, it was Raleigh losing his vocabulary and fine motor control.

They were still wearing too damn many clothes, though. Wrestling his focus from the excruciatingly welcome feel of yet another glorious stroke, he pulled away enough for a quick, sloppy, rather bitey kiss, then pulled back entirely and toed off his boots, shucking out of his trousers. Becket made a protesting noise at first, then got the drift and did the same, and Chuck felt his mouth dry out at the sight of that Captain America body fully bared for the first time. He was staring, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck.

Raleigh Becket was well worth the look.

"Fuck, mate." He shook his head and bit his lower lip. "Why do you even wear clothes?"

Blushing, the bloke scruffed a hand through his hair and grinned crookedly. "I live in Alaska?"

He snorted, then stepped over the scattered pile of clothes to run a hand from chiseled pecs to fantastic abs, detoured over an oblique he could cut a steak with, and finally stroked his fingertips down a truly porn-worthy thigh. "Fuck that, Ray. We live through this fuckarow, and I'm taking you to a nude beach, just to watch you walk around bare-ass naked in the sun."

"That's actually sorta romantic. From you."

He smirked, sliding his hand around and making sure that ass felt as amazing naked as it had clothed. It totally did.

"You're the poet here, mate."

The gorgeous bastard grinned, his eyes heating. "I will not be writing sonnets to your junk. Just want that out front. You're hot, but not that hot."

A laugh jumped out of him, and he gave the whacker a shove over toward the bed. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Becket."

The fucker tilted his head down, the grin becoming a smirk that seemed to smolder. "Impress me, Hansen."

If any more blood rushed to his erection, he was pretty sure he'd pass out. Pulling ten Gs in a world-shattering explosion at sixty thousand feet hadn't managed it, but a naked and smirking Raleigh Becket?

"You're on, mate."

"Bring it."

Chuck fucking brought it.


	33. Chapter 33

Smirking, Chuck stalked closer, then lunged. Raleigh grinned wickedly and tried to use his momentum to flip him, but Chuck rolled with it, landing on his back on the bed but twisting up and over until he had the seppo right where he wanted him, on his back with Chuck straddling his hips. The cheating bastard reached up and grabbed a handful of hair, but since he only used it to pull him down into a breath-stealing kiss, Chuck didn't cry foul.

He rocked his hips forward, and Raleigh let his head fall back with a groan. Taking advantage of the unintentional break, he shoved to his knees and reached for the closest drawer, hoping he'd been smart enough to unpack his stash of condoms and lube in an easy-to-reach place. Not like he'd been here long enough to need them.

Until now, of course.

When he settled back into place -- unable to resist another roll of his hips -- and put everything in easy reach, Raleigh bit at his lip and rested his hands on Chuck's thighs.

"I get the lube, but do we really need condoms?"

Considering, he idly traced his fingers over the epic landscape of the seppo's chest and stomach. "You're clean, yeah?"

Quirking a little grin, the bloke nodded.

He grinned, too, and rubbed his thumb over Raleigh's nipple, just to watch it stand up. "My last quarterly check-up says I'm clean, and -- sad to say -- it's been much longer than that since I last wet my wick, so to speak."

The grin twisted into a smirk. "And you say you're not a poet."

He waggled his eyebrows, grinning wider. "Yeah, I'm a regular fucking Shakespeare. So... I guess it's up to you, mate. What do you want?" He rolled his hips again, because it felt fucking awesome.

To his credit, the bloke didn't hesitate. "I want to feel you. Inside, ya know?"

Chuck blinked. Raleigh bit his lip and arched his hips a bit.

"Might as well get the full experience, right? I... want to _feel_ you."

Heat melted through him, and he leaned down for a slow, thorough kiss. He supposed that settled who was on top. God, even the thought of--

Groaning, he moved to sprawl out over the gorgeous body below him, wanting to touch as much as possible. One of Raleigh's hands cupped his jaw, his thumb stroking gently as they kissed, and it occurred to him after a long moment that Raleigh was stroking his dimple. It was such a stupid, pointless thing to realize, but... another melting wave of heat spread through him. Chuck both loved and hated that dimple in turns, depending on whether it made him look like a kid or got him into someone's pants, but right now....

Shifting, he drew himself up Raleigh's gorgeous length in a full-body caress that brought moans from both of them. He tangled one hand in the bloke's hair and stroked the other down to pin down an arching hip. Another full-body stroke, and Raleigh whispered Chuck's name into his mouth. He rocked them like that for an endless while, just pressing muscle to muscle, groin to groin, skin to skin. He'd missed this. Just... being with someone that wasn't a quick fuck on the road. And if Raleigh's ever more desperate kisses and clutching hands were any indication, the poor bastard had missed it, too.

Then, Raleigh shifted to lift one knee along Chuck's hip. That one movement changed them from lying together to Chuck lying between Raleigh's legs, and it made all the difference in the world. Just like that, they weren't making out anymore.

Hmm-ing his appreciation of the change, Chuck reached between them and caught them both in one hand, stroking as they continued their lazy grind. Raleigh's breath hissed in between his teeth, his neck arching as his head tipped back. Whispering nothings against the bloke's throat, Chuck reached blindly for the bottle he could have sworn he put near to hand. The nothings turned to a curse when he knocked the bottle over and had to actually pull up and away to find it again. Luckily, while the bastard did chuckle at the delay, it was a tight, throaty chuckle, and it didn't stop the bloke from reaching around to get two handfuls of Chuck's ass and bring him back down where he wanted him.

Muttering but far from irritated, he settled back into place and drizzled a little lube on one hand. Because he wasn't a complete asshole -- especially when he was getting laid -- he warmed it between his hands while Raleigh trailed little sucking kisses down his throat, then braced one elbow by ol' Cap's head and again reached between them. He gave a few slick strokes that hitched Raleigh's breath, then moved down a little further to give the balls a good fondling. He was tempted -- God, was he tempted -- to crack a joke about their size again, but thankfully, he restrained himself. With effort.

Then, with many murmurings against kiss-heated lips, he stroked a single slicked finger over the vulnerable entrance and mentally cursed. There wasn't any give in that tight muscle. Like this, a single finger would probably hurt. Forget anything more... insistent. Like his own aching cock.

He needed Raleigh to relax, and fast. Grinning against those nipping, nibbling lips, he figured he'd go right for the quickest fix.

"Wait here, precious."

Raleigh's voice was hoarse as he grunted incredulously. "Precious?"

Snickering, Chuck shifted to kiss down between the tectonic plates that served as Becket's pectorals. "What, you can have a pet name for me, but I don't get one for you?"

Arching and twisting as Chuck sucked here and there on those flexing abs, the seppo grunted again. " 'Fungus' is not a pet name, Chuck."

Lowering those sucking little kisses further, he stroked over the tight pucker again, just as a sort of reminder. "But you say it with such genuine affection."

Raleigh squirmed a little, apparently having a pretty good idea where Chuck was headed, but didn't retort. Rewarding him with a sharper, almost biting kiss right above where the shorthairs started, Chuck hnn-ed a smug little laugh and got a good hold on the bloke's hips, his thumbs pressing just a bit too hard into the sensitive points.

"Dammit, Chuck...."

Moving to kneel between Raleigh's thighs and consequently edging them just that much further apart, Chuck trailed the tip of his nose up the impressive length and grinned as it twitched and Raleigh groaned.

"Easy, precious. I got you."

Raleigh's breath shivered out. "Fuuuuck...."

It had been a while, so he knew he wouldn't be able to deepthroat, but thus far, Raleigh had been hair-trigger sensitive to his every touch. It shouldn't take much for the poor, neglected bastard to come, and nothing eased the tension faster than that.

Smirking, Chuck figured he was up for the task.

He ran his tongue around the tip, and the gorgeous body clenched in an arch. Or would have, if Chuck hadn't been holding him down at the hips. As it was, the shifting bunch of all that muscle was a heart-stopping sight, indeed, and he watched, fascinated, as he sucked gently on the head.

It was a bloody crime to think of how long it had been since the beautiful bastard had seen any action. Every pass of Chuck's mouth, every teasing breath over the damp, satin skin, every stroke of his tongue along the twisting vein underneath brought the most perfect noises from Raleigh's throat, and it took an embarrassingly long time to remember why he was blowing the pretty fucker in the first place.

Once he remembered, he braced his forearm over the writhing bloke's stomach, reached down with the other hand, and made quick work of swirling his finger around the loosened pucker and pressing just inside. Raleigh made that deep, throaty, whimpering groan again, but didn't pull away. Fiddling his tongue at the underside just below the head, Chuck pressed in further, pulled out, and pressed in again. Much better.

Needed more lube, though. He'd been a little distracted and had gotten it everywhere _but_ where it was supposed to go.

Easily remedied. He didn't bother warming it this time, though. He wasn't sure Raleigh wouldn't choke him if he quit holding him down to use both hands like that.

One finger fit just fine this time, so he added another and went straight for the prostate. He leaned heavily on his restraining arm and stroked over the spot, and Raleigh's whole body jerked, an actual, honest-to-God cry escaping Raleigh's throat. And now two fingers fit just fine.

Humming, he dropped down that throbbing erection a little further and went for three. Raleigh's breath hitched in, and one hand fisted in Chuck's hair. The bloke didn't tug or try to push him down, just... anchored himself. Chuck twisted his wrist on every thrust, because sometimes he was an asshole even when he was getting laid, and Raleigh cried out again and came in a sudden rush.

He hadn't necessarily planned on swallowing, but since the moment was upon him, who was he to argue? Plus, when Raleigh collapsed back against the bunk, three fingers was a perfect fit. Chuck was a genius.

Except now, his own hard-on was painful and in desperate need of contact, but Raleigh would probably need a certain amount of time to stop being too damn sensitive to thrust against.

Fucking refractory time.

_Poor planning, Hansen._

Groaning, he reached down and stroked himself, then shook his head. Fuck it.

"Roll over, precious. On your knees and elbows, yeah?"

Damn near boneless with release, Raleigh didn't protest but needed a little direction to get in position. Chuck gladly helped, then slicked himself generously and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Tell me if you need me to stop, Ray. I don't wanna hurt you."

The only answer was a muzzy, wordless affirmation, so he tightened his jaw and pressed just inside. Good God, but it was almost too tight and too hot and _fuck_ \--

That wasn't a wordless affirmation, and that big, gorgeous body tightened up on a cringe.

"God, Ray, don't clench." He stroked his hands over the taut muscle of Raleigh's back, hopefully soothing him. If the bastard hadn't just come, Chuck would reach around and give him a few strokes to loosen him up, but now, that'd probably just make things worse. "Deep breaths, mate. Push back if you need to. It helps."

Broad shoulders heaved as the bloke tried to take his advice. "Damn, man." His voice was strained but perfectly understandable. "They should have made you pilot instead of copilot."

He didn't have the slightest clue what the fuck the seppo was talking about, but said seppo pushed back a bit, sinking Chuck in further, and all he could do was lean his forehead down on that broad, heaving back and try to respond. "Why's that?"

A tight groan. "I may have big balls, but you clearly have the bigger dick."

A harsh bark of laughter escaped him, sinking him that much further and twisting off in a groan of his own. "Fuck, Ray. We're damn near the same size."

Another deep breath, and the bastard pushed back again, taking a little more of him. "Lying bastard."

Smirking and pressing in a bit more, he kissed along the heated spine. "Fuck you, too, precious."

Instead of trying for balls-deep on the first pass, he pulled back almost all the way, then eased slowly back in, sliding a little further this time as Raleigh relaxed into it. Much, much better. Another slow press, and they both groaned with more pleasure than discomfort. Another slow press, and he bottomed out and rested against Raleigh's back, stroking his hands over all the skin in reach.

"Fuck, Raleigh... you feel...."

Without pulling back, he rolled his hips a bit and moaned as Raleigh gasped, his back arching. Unable to help himself, he pulled back and actually thrust, and they both shuddered at the feel of it. Another thrust, this time aimed at that magic little bundle of nerves, and Raleigh lowered his forehead to his forearms and let out wordless vocalization that was too long for a groan but not loud enough for a shout. Whatever the fuck it was, it shot down Chuck's spine and exploded, and he widened his knees enough to thrust in earnest.

The sight of that gorgeous back bunching and writhing was pure eye candy, but Chuck already felt his orgasm creeping up, and he wanted to be able to kiss the pretty bastard when it happened. Desperate, he tried to be gentle as he reached around, and oh, thank God, but refractory hell would seem to be over. Groaning deep in his chest, he thrust deep a few more times, then grit his teeth and pulled out entirely.

Raleigh protested and pressed back against him, bringing a tight smirk to Chuck's mouth.

" 'S all right, precious. On your back now. I wanna see you when I come."

The bloke moaned and rolled over, reaching up for a tongue-filled debauchery of a kiss and pulling him down with sheer desperation. Chuck wasn't far behind on the desperation front, and he reached down and hooked one of Raleigh's legs up over the crook of his elbow, spread the other knee wide, and thrust back inside, bottoming out with a near shout down Raleigh's throat.

The world devolved into a hot eternity of bone-melting pleasure and gaudy thrusts and kisses that contained far too many teeth to be sweet. It was fucking beautiful -- and beautiful fucking, the smartass part of his mind that never shut up insisted on chiming in -- and he didn't want it to ever end. Raleigh hoarsely called his name and arched against him, that fucking perfect body locking up again and the impossibly handsome face twisting in ecstasy, and it was all over for Chuck's control.

Two thrusts balls-deep and he came like the Judgment, like the MOAB that had damn near killed them along with Otachi, like nothing he'd ever felt before. The crest lasted and lasted, his whole body straining. He wanted to keep watching every expression on Raleigh's nakedly open face, but his eyes clenched shut of their own volition, so he buried his face in the curve of Raleigh's neck instead to muffle whatever sound was squeezing out of his own throat.

Finally, exhausted and fucked out beyond belief, he collapsed in slow motion, slumping over the gasping body still cradling him. He should probably pull out and roll off to the side -- something about forty extra pounds of muscle tried to surface but couldn't quite make itself fully known -- but he just couldn't do it.

So they lay together, sweaty and panting and all tangled up. The thunder of his heartbeat in his ears slowly ebbed. Raleigh's chest stopped heaving under him and simply rose and fell, rose and fell, slower and less labored each time. After a measureless eternity, Raleigh wrapped his arms up around Chuck's back. Grinning a bit, Chuck nuzzled up under the seppo's jaw and shifted the tiniest bit until he was perfectly comfortable.

They settled, content for the moment, though if they didn't clean up soon, they'd have a hell of a mess to deal with.

Then, Raleigh chuckled softly. Chuck grunted a wordless question. The bastard shook his head.

"Seriously. Precious?"

"Fuck you, Becket."

"Too late."

And then they were both laughing, and it was definitely time for a clean-up.

Totally worth it.


	34. Chapter 34

It was a strangely timeless afternoon, and it seemed to exist in shutterclicks in Chuck's mind as Raleigh sprawled over him that night, cheek on his chest and arms around his waist.

They had showered together, soaping each other up but too wrecked to get up to too much dickens just yet. It was mostly sloppy kisses and steam, but it was nice.

Next shutterclick: they dressed and went to check on Yancy. Newt said there was no change as yet, but monitoring showed no signs of seizure activity since the surgery, and they had stopped the anti-seizure meds the morning of, so that was probably a very good sign. _It'll take time_ , an unusually subdued Dr. Geiszler said. _He needs to heal. He's been through a lot, and the surgery took a lot out of him, but he's strong. He wants to live_.

Without having to talk about it, they stayed a good hour, Raleigh reading from _The Odyssey_ in his soothing, steady voice until Chuck nearly fell asleep in his chair.

Next shutterclick: Raleigh on his knees on the floor between Chuck's thighs while Chuck arched up off the bed and tried not to yank the bastard's hair out. He should've known the bloke would be a fast learner, but he couldn't have guessed how fast the fucker would teach himself to deepthroat.

Combined with how quickly the gorgeous bastard found and exploited Chuck's prostate, he wasn't surprised that the next shutterclick was him furiously riding Raleigh's hips, the bed shaking with the force of their epic fucking.

Smiling in the dark, he let himself linger over that one, twisting Raleigh's hair around the fingers of one hand and tucking the other behind his head, idly wishing for a cigarette.

Next shutterclick: they lay gloriously, unashamedly naked on Chuck's bed, staring up at the ceiling and trading stories they hadn't quite dared to talk about before. Chuck talked about the bulldog he'd had to give up when the jaeger program went covert. Max. God, he missed that dog. Max hadn't been just a pet to him, but there was no way to keep him on an op, and it was cruel to constantly leave him with strangers while they were gone, so....

Raleigh talked about the ghosts hanging on his walls -- his mother's battle with cancer, his father's desertion after her death, how he and Yancy had lost track of their sister when they'd signed up for service and she went into a foster home. She'd run away in less than a year. God only knew where she was now or what she thought of him, considering the public story about the Gipsy Danger disaster.

Eventually, curled up against Raleigh's side with a strong arm draped around his shoulders, Chuck talked about his mother, about how he wished he knew what had really happened but had no way of knowing. Herc never spoke of it, _couldn't_ speak of it, and Chuck didn't remember, though he suspected he had simply refused to remember it anymore at some point in his childhood.

Next shutterclick: him lazing on his stomach, his chin on his stacked hands, half of the last sleeve of Tim Tams close at hand as Raleigh gave him a slow, lazy back massage, pausing every now and then to kiss whatever spot he deemed kiss-worthy. A movie played on the screen across the room, but it was mostly just background noise. At some point, Herc buzzed him on the comm, asking if he knew where Becket was.

"Yeah, he's here. Go on, Dad."

A pause. "Why is he in your bunk?"

Chuck smirked. "We're trading comics." He ignored Raleigh's snicker. "Spit it out."

Another pause. "Well, at least I only have to say it the once. We've got Gipsy rigged out with a FOAB, but the other one seems to have gone missing at some point. If we live through this mess, someone will have a brand new asshole torn in them, but for now, we're just loading a MOAB into Coyote Tango and hoping for the best."

He tensed, but Raleigh immediately shifted to rub that tension out, and he fought a groan of pure bliss. The bloke really was a fucking wizard.

"So we're going in tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah. We meet in the hangar bay at 09:00 and say whatever needs saying. Suited up and on the tarmac by 10:00, if we can. No sense waiting around."

He twisted his head around to meet Raleigh's eyes. "No. I guess not."

Next shutterclick: this time, they took it slow, as if they had all the time in the world. They were both tired and a little sore from earlier, so the pace was... different. Lingering. By the time he slid into Raleigh's tight heat, orgasm was almost an afterthought.

Not that he didn't work for it toward the end, there.

And now it was now, and he couldn't sleep and wanted a smoke, and Raleigh occasionally let out a stupidly adorable little snuffling snore that tickled his chest hair, and he didn't want it to end. His legs were going numb, spread as they were to accommodate Raleigh's bulk, but he didn't even try to move. He needed to feel that bulk pressing him back into the mattress, needed to keep twisting the soft hair around his fingers, needed the tickle of those goofy little snores.

Because tomorrow, they might well be gone forever. He could only hope they'd die together, because he refused to face the prospect of living without this now that he'd tasted it, and he dreaded the thought of leaving Raleigh alone without anyone to coax him into that gorgeous smile that lit up the whole damn world.

Shoving it all aside, he shifted minutely and forcibly closed his eyes. He had to get some sleep. He'd be useless if he didn't, and if he was even a half-second off because he'd been whinging in the dark over something completely beyond his control, he'd never forgive himself, alive or dead.

Sometimes, a military upbringing was a blessing. Sometimes, he thought as he finally started to drop off with a vague regret that he couldn't allow himself to enjoy the bliss of Raleigh's body against his, it was a fucking curse.

Sighing, he let himself go and slept.


	35. Chapter 35

Okay, now Herc wasn't sure what the fuck to think. He wasn't sure his son and the brat's maybe-or-maybe-not-boyfriend weren't just messing with him at this point.

They didn't giggle or nudge each other or flash hickies or anything like that, but every once in a while, Herc caught them exchanging... a look. A _look_.

But they didn't stand ridiculously close together. They didn't touch or hold hands.

But those _looks_....

Shaking his head, he gave up even trying to figure the pair of jackalopes out and stood forward to address the whole crowd. He'd never liked public speaking. It was bad enough to lead a war council of his nearest and dearest; this "addressing the entire goddamn Shatterdome" thing hadn't been part of the job description.

He cleared his throat. "I won't lie to you. This is it. The bottom of the ninth. The fourth quarter. The final stretch. However you want to put it, this is our last stand. The Kaiju Underground is an abomination, and we can no longer afford to tolerate their depravity."

Lifting his head, he looked at his son, at Raleigh, at Stacker and Mako. "Some of us have given everything we have and will give still more by the end of the day. Every single person here has bled for this war, make no mistake."

Raleigh swallowed hard, and Herc knew the kid was thinking about his brother, who still hadn't awakened. It seemed strange, but Yancy might actually outlive his little brother even if he never woke up again, and what the fuck kind of world allowed something like that to happen?

"It ends today. One way or the other, it ends today. We're gonna blow those twisted bastards off the map or die trying, and even then, we're gonna wreck all their shit we can on the way down."

The crowd murmured and shifted, starting to respond.

"The world is already starting to understand what we've known this whole time." He shot Tendo a quick nod. The massive info dump had been blindingly successful. "They need us to stand up for them today so they can stand up for us tomorrow."

Nods and affirmative noises.

"So today, people, we're going for nothing less than the future. Today, we're gonna save the whole goddamn world."

Shouts now, the crowd feeding off itself and ramping up its own energy.

"Today, we are canceling the apocalypse!"

Whoops and war cries erupted, and Herc felt himself hollering right along with them. The cheering crowd slowly dispersed to their assigned tasks, slapping each other on the back and feeding off the positive flow.

Feeling a little light-headed, Herc looked over at Stacker and raised his eyebrows. "How'd I do? Did I leave anything out?"

His old friend shrugged. "Nah. That's about what I would've said."

They shook hands, and then Stacker and Mako moved off a little to one side to confer and Herc looked at his son, who was doing the same with Raleigh. He gave them a moment, then stepped closer, feeling his throat tighten up with... dread? Maybe dread.

Raleigh, good kid that he was, nodded once, then ducked away to go join Mako and Stacker, leaving Herc alone with his son.

Yeah. Definitely dread. But, strangely enough, not of talking to his son. Not anymore.

No, this was dread of talking to his son for the last time.

"Hey, now."

That damned dimple appeared for a moment as Chuck tried to grin and failed, his head dipping to hide his eyes.

Bracing himself, he straightened his shoulders. "I know I haven't always said what I needed to."

Chuck jerked his head back up. "I always knew what you meant. You said enough."

He swallowed, his throat tight. Fuck, this was hard. "I just... I'm proud of you, son. And I hate that I can't go with you. That you have to go alone."

At that, a ghost of the failed grin brought the dimple back. "Not alone, old man." The brat's eyes cut over to Raleigh, who had turned completely away to give them privacy. "Not anymore, yeah?"

Fuck. Trust his contrary, stubborn jackass of a son to find his happiness right before the end of the fucking world. Herc's eyes stung, but he swallowed hard a few times and shifted his feet, fighting to keep his chin up.

"Good. I'm glad, son."

Because he _was_ glad. Those looks made a lot more sense now, and... well... if it had to end, at least they'd been happy for a little while.

Fuck. He fucking hated this. If there was any other way....

His eyes burned again, and he gave up a little of his restraint to lurch forward and wrap a forearm around his kid's neck, pulling him in close for a second and leaning their foreheads together. Chuck closed his eyes, his throat working, but didn't fight the half-hug.

"Come back, yeah?"

His son nodded and sniffed. "I'll try."

It was all he could do. Feeling like his chest was about to rip itself apart, he nodded and pulled away, unable to look now that he'd all but said goodbye. Call him a coward, but if the worst happened, he wanted the last mental picture of his son to be of their foreheads pressed together, both of them trying not to cry.

"Right, then."

Chuck straightened and tugged at the neck of his flight suit, then turned and walked over to Gipsy Danger with his helmet tucked under his arm. Raleigh finally looked up as the kid walked by, then turned to look questioningly at Herc.

His throat working, he gave the bloke a nod. "Take care of my son, Becket."

"With my life, sir."

A good kid, that.

With another nod, Herc turned and strode out of the hangar bay, and if a little of the moisture burning his eyes happened to slip out and run down his cheeks, well... it was the end of the goddamn world.

He could cry if he damn well wanted.


	36. Chapter 36

"Takeoff in three... two... one."

This time, Chuck took a moment to savor the feel of Gipsy Danger hurtling herself into the air. Admired how the land fell away and left nothing but clear blue sky as far as he could see. He fucking loved flying, and nothing could take that away from him.

"Huh."

Blinking away his pleasant thoughts, he returned his attention to the matter at hand. "What?"

"Just... the stick's a little sluggish." Raleigh jostled them side to side a bit. "The FOAB's heavy. Gonna affect maneuverability."

"Bad?"

Another side-to-side shimmy. "Not too bad. Let's just hope we don't find out the hard way."

They flew in silence for a little while. Then, Chuck again found himself grinning.

"Hey, Becket."

"Hey what?"

His grin widened. "You're a fucking wizard. You know that?"

Raleigh chuckled. "If you say so."

"I say so."

No more chitchat as they flew toward the coordinates Tendo programmed in. If all went to plan, Coyote Tango would drop the MOAB on the power plant and Gipsy would loose the FOAB into the ocean on a planned trajectory with a twenty second delay to blow the everloving fuck out of the literal underwater evil lair the Kaiju had been hiding all this time.

Of course, no one expected this to go as planned.

"Any sign of them?"

He glanced at his LEDs. "Nah. If they're out there, they're hiding."

There was always a slight possibility that the Kaiju hadn't been able to get those three drones operational in time, but Chuck didn't count on it, and he knew Raleigh didn't, either.

"How long to the drop point?"

"Twelve minutes and closing."

"Still nothing?"

"Still nothing."

He didn't like it. It was too goddamn quiet. Felt like a trap.

"Six minutes and closing, Ray. Where are they?"

"Fuck if I know. Feels like they're breathing down my neck. Tango, you got anything?"

Mako's voice was neutral. "No signatures. The power plant is coming up on screen, though."

Sure enough, the blocky, ugly structure seemed to grow slowly on his LEDs as they neared it, rising up out of the ocean with nothing more than a thin skirt of sand around its base to show that it was build on an actual island. The big eyesore should show up on the horizon any time now.

"Icebox, talk to us." He didn't like this. It was too easy. "Any movement from other facilities?"

"Nothing unusual." Tendo's voice sounded as stretched tight as everyone else's."No sign of any drones."

"Three minutes. No way is it this fucking easy, Ray. What are we missing?"

"I dunno, but it feels like-- _fuck!_ "

Chuck squawked and grabbed at the trigger as a drone shot up from out of the water not fifty meters away, .50 cals blazing. Raleigh hauled back on the stick, but it wasn't enough to clear the fucker with the FOAB's extra bulk, so he rolled them right and kept on climbing as the drone picked up the chase.

"Tango, they're in the water! They come up out of the goddamn water!"

"Roger that, Gipsy--"

The comm cut off, and Chuck could only assume Coyote Tango had just met another drone. He eyed the scrolling text on one of his LEDs and sure enough, joining Codename: Scunner was Codename: Raiju.

Two. _Again_. But where was Number Three?

"He's on our six, Becket. Can you shake him?"

"Fucker's fast." The words were hissed through clenched teeth. "I gotta get some distance on him. He's further up my ass than you were."

A half-astonished, half-hysterial laugh jumped out of him, and he looked to make sure the comm wasn't open. Thank God, but it wasn't. He wasn't sure his old man wanted that kind of detail.

"Afterburners?"

"Hate to spring 'em already, but...."

Gipsy shot forward with a beautiful burst of speed, but Scunner adjusted fast, accelerating just as much and opening fire again. Still, even the little bit of space between them gave Becket some maneuvering room, and he hopped Gipsy side to side fast enough that only a few of the bullets struck home.

"Fuck this. Hold on."

It felt like the whacker slammed on the brakes when he flicked off the afterburners, and Chuck's harness dug into his chest as he was thrown forward with the sudden deceleration.

"The fuck, Becket! He's gonna rearend us--"

But he'd forgotten for a moment that Raleigh was a fucking wizard. The quick slowdown and a light hand on the stick lowered them just enough that Scunner shot by overhead. As the bastard finally reacted and slowed, Raleigh nudged them back up.

"Strafe 'im!"

Chuck had already complied, the .50 cals roaring. A slew of bullet holes appeared in that nasty black skin, and the drone shot off to the left and up, disappearing for the moment.

"How we doin', Hansen?"

"Minor damage. No breach. No sign of the fucker."

"Tango? Talk to me, guys."

Pentecost's sepulchral voice filled his ears. "A few holes. You?"

"About the same. Raiju?"

"In the wind. They're fast, Becket. We can't track them until they slow enough for our sensors."

Chuck kept his eyes on his LEDs, hoping for some sign of where they'd strike next. Finally, a red blip.

" _Fuck!_ Tango, on your nine, _on your nine!_ "

A rending, tearing crash pressed his eardrums before the comms cut out.

"Chuck, are they--"

"Still green, but that didn't sound good. Fuck this. We've got a bomb to drop, mate. We can't help them until it's done."

Raleigh adjusted their vector until they were back in the projected glide path. "Just tell me if that fucker's about to jack-in-the-box again."

"Said as if I'd fucking know."

The bastard snorted. "So use the Force, dammit. The fuck else are you good for?"

"Not the time, Becket! Drop Zone in thirty seconds!"

This time, the red blip appeared right on top of them. Or, he realized as Gipsy shuddered upward and lost any feeling of stability, right below them. The fucker had uppercut them from out of the water, this time not bothering with the guns.

Cursing, Raleigh wrestled with the stick, fired the afterburners again to gain some extra thrust, and finally rocked Gipsy off Scunner's back and straightened them out again, though they were too far off target to even think about dropping.

"Something feels off, Hansen. Are we breached?"

Hands shaking, Chuck ran a quick status check, then groaned. "Fuck. _Fuck!_ Becket, we're fucked. That hit shoved the FOAB right up Gipsy's gut. We can't release!"

Silence. Then: "Okay, change of plans. Tango, you still with us?"

Static erupted in bursts, but Chuck nearly whooped with relief as he heard Stacker's voice breaking through. "Right wing crippled. Massive structural damage. Unable to deploy MOAB." More static. "--initiating manual override. Ejecting copilot."

Mako's sudden wail pierced his ears, and he winced. "Sensei, don't--"

"Copilot ejected. Course plotted. Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure."

"Stacker, wait!" Raleigh's voice was ragged. "We can get to you. We're coming, dammit!"

"Negative, Gipsy. Stay as far away as possible. I'll clear the path."

The comm went crazy with protests and shouts from the Icebox and from Mako, but Raleigh only made a deep, painful noise in his chest and banked sharply away from the power plant. Because of course that's where Stacker was headed.

"Ray...." Chuck's own voice was tight and gruff. "Scunner and Raiju are converging on Tango's trail."

"Good. Maybe he'll take those fuckers down with him."

It wasn't long before the horizon went white and Chuck's tracking LED flashed red over most of the grid. When the mess cleared, he saw no sign of either of the drones, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The fuckers had a tendency to wink in and out like mirages in the fucking desert.

"Chuck, talk to me."

"Looks like all clear, but we're still fucked."

"So we can't release. I can set Gipsy to coast down slow enough that we can eject at a safe dist--"

"Oh, bloody hell." His voice was appallingly weak.

A new red dot, bigger than any of the others, blipped into being between them and where the power plant had been. Right where they needed Gipsy to crash if they had any hope of ending this thing.

"Chuck? _Chuck??_ "

"Ray, we've got a problem."


	37. Chapter 37

The scroll on his text screen read Codename: Slattern, and he let out a humorless chuckle because, yeah. She was an almighty bitch, alright.

" 'Codename: Slattern' just dropped her fat ass right in our glide path, Becket. Whattya got for me?"

"Can we still drop Sidewinders?"

He tapped the right LED to bring the status report back up, his jaw tight. "Left side, yes. Right side... maybe. Wouldn't count on it."

"Guns?"

"Operational. Plenty of ammo, but I dunno how much good it'll do us."

Raleigh grunted. "Cinch up your panties, Hansen."

"Fuck. You. Becket."

Amazingly enough, the daffy fuck actually laughed. And even though they were proper fucked, Chuck couldn't help but laugh along with him. Today was a good day to die, so long as they took that right bitch with them.

"Icebox? Do you have Mako?"

Of course Becket would be worried about picking up a stray. Then again, Chuck didn't bother hiding his relief when Herc answered that they'd deployed a chopper.

"Good. We have a bit of a roadblock here, but we're still on target. Proceeding."

"Good luck, boys." Herc's voice sounded broken, and Chuck felt his chest clench painfully. "We'll be monitoring, yeah?"

 _Just in case_ , the old man didn't say.

"Alright, Ray. Dazzle me."

"On it."

They circled once more, then returned to the projected path. The big red dot over the target hadn't moved. Well, they'd be in visual range soon enough, and they had a big, fat kiss for her.

"There she is."

Chuck squinted, and sure enough, Slattern hovered like a bloated vulture over what should have been an island but looked more like a blackened, smoking spit of a sandbar. Damn near the whole island was simply gone.

 _Nicely done, Stacker_ , he mused, impressed.

Then, she moved. She wasn't as fast as the other two, but she was big, and she had bigger guns. As Raleigh cursed and jerked them into a quick roll-away, those bigger caliber bullets tore into Gipsy's wings and peppered the undercarriage. One broke through the canopy as they shot by and split the air not ten centimeters before Chuck's eyes, then exited out the other side.

"No more of that. Still with me back there?"

Chuck huffed a weak laugh. "I'm sitting a little higher in my seat, thanks to the load of shit I just dropped, but otherwise, yeah."

Not even a chuckle. "She look a little worse for wear to you?"

"Honestly, I wasn't looking that close, mate. She ain't my type."

That got a chuckle. "Picky bastard. I think she might have tasted some of that MOAB. There's heavy damage on the right side."

"How the hell did you see that in the two seconds we weren't catching bullets?"

"Sidewinders at the ready. We're gonna get right in her face. Aim for her flank."

Settling, he gripped the trigger and waited for Raleigh to give him his shot. The crazy bastard banked them around for another run, and Slattern fell into their crosshairs in the distance.

Yes, she was a little ragged, now that he had a second to look. Again, he found himself impressed with Pentecost. Fucker knew how to make an exit.

"Here she comes."

Raleigh hauled them up and dropped them down, but they still took too many hits from those massive bullets. Grimacing, his jaw aching with tension, he waited for that bitch to show her bad side. Then, Raleigh Fucking Becket faked to the right.

Slattern bit, turning that direction to pursue... and exposing her ragged right flank.

Whooping, Raleigh cranked them back to to the left and Chuck let fly, three Sidewinders dropping as fast as he could loose them, every fucking one slamming into that weak side. Slattern spun drunkenly away, smoking and shedding wreckage.

"Raleigh Fucking Becket!" His throat hurt with the force of his shout, but he didn't care. "You fucking wizard!"

The bitch wasn't done yet, though, and Raleigh cursed and hauled up on the stick as an honest-to-God missile streaked up from where Slattern wallowed in her own smoke.

"Left, Becket, left!"

"Got it, got it. Hang on."

It missed them by less than a meter and exploded overhead with enough force to shove them down at the water, and Chuck felt cold shoot through him. So the bitch wanted to play rough?

They could fucking play rough.

"We can't take one of those, Ray. We gotta ghost this bitch."

But Raleigh didn't answer. In fact, the whacker banked them wide and put some distance between them and the target.

"Becket?"

Settling into a lazy circling pattern, Raleigh sighed. "Chuck, I have a plan."

"So what the fuck are we waiting for?"

"Do you trust me?"

He blinked. "Of course. What--"

"Pilot override, command alpha two-niner charlie, all controls to pilot console."

His LEDs went dark, the trigger dead in his hand. "Ray, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Manual override. Ejecting copilot."

Panic shot through him. "Becket, don't you fucking dare!"

And then he was airborne and cursing, scared to death from the sudden upward explosion and panicking with insight into exactly what that fucking septic had in mind.

"Raleigh! Goddammit, Ray, you cheating son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you myself!"

His jumpseat reached its epoch and the parachute popped, the bulk of his copilot chair dropping away.

"Choppers, got another one for you. Confirm evac. Continuing on target."

"Ray, goddammit! How the fuck could you do this to me?"

But Raleigh didn't answer, and Chuck cursed himself hoarse on the open comm as he drifted down toward the rolling ocean below. He heard the choppers in the distance and didn't fucking care. Even when he hit the water and his suit's dye pack kicked in, turning the ocean into a big neon green smudge with him in the middle, he didn't care. He was too busy cursing Raleigh Fucking Becket and all his ancestors back to the fucking Vikings.

Only when Chuck finally ran out of fucks and shits and every single Australian slang word he'd ever heard for "idiot" did Raleigh deign to answer back.

"I'm sorry, Chuck."

His heart did its best to strangle him.

"But I'm taking her with me, not you."

The choppers thundered up close and hovered overhead, but for the moment, he was deaf, blind, and dumb. In fact, for a moment, Chuck Hansen knew what it felt like to be dead.

Unfortunately, he wasn't.


	38. Chapter 38

"Target in sight. Slattern moving to intercept."

Chuck stared off into the distance, sitting on the edge of the Apache's floor with his legs dangling over the side, his helmet still on so he could at least listen to the open comm. Mako sat at his side, pale and silent, her helmet on as well.

Survivors. At least, so far.

"Calculating time to target."

His wrecked voice was barely a whisper as he tried for one last hope. "Ray, can you set it and eject like you said before?"

"Not without her dodging. She's going down, too, man. We have to be sure."

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Fuck."

"Collision course plotted. Engaging."

The chopper pilots didn't protest when Chuck insisted on waiting safely outside the projected range of the blast. He supposed they, too, hoped for the best, but one look at Mako proved that she knew the score as well as Chuck did.

He wished they were in visual range, but... no. Visual range was too close to be safe in a fucking chopper.

"Pucker up, honeybunch." Raleigh's voice sounded unbearably smug. "I got somethin' for ya."

He wanted to protest. He wanted to plead for the fuckwit septic to bail out and take the chance that the FOAB would get the bitch as well the target. No words came out.

"Afterburners engaged. Ha! Didn't see that coming, didja? Smile pretty, bitch!"

His eyes closed as yet another rending crash tore through his ears, Raleigh's victorious shout echoing in counterpoint.

"Going down on target! I got you now, you whore!"

He couldn't stand it. Jerking to his feet and knocking his head off the low ceiling because he forgot everything but one _last_ last hope, he all but screamed into the comm.

"Raleigh Fucking Becket, you punch out right the fuck now or I swear to God I'll jump out of this fucking chopper and personally drag your ass to hell! _You can't leave me like this, you son of a bitch!_ "

No response, at least none with words. Just the sounds of a screaming wreck in motion and then... the ocean rose up. Swelled. Rolled. Receded back to its normal, gentle waves.

Silence on the comm.

Chuck felt his heart still in his chest. "Raleigh?"

The silence was so loud it hurt.

"Raleigh, please...."

"Tracking shows the facility is destroyed, no sign of any drones." Tendo's voice sounded anything but thrilled with this news. "Mission accomplished. Come on home."

One of the pilots turned to look at him, silently asking for orders. The fuck was he supposed to say? He couldn't just leave.

Swallowing hard, feeling numb and absently grateful for the fact that the pain hadn't set in yet, he looked at Mako. She only looked back. What was there to say?

"Wait." Herc's voice was almost as hoarse as Chuck's. "Wait wait wait. Tendo?"

Tendo's voice was a good deal more animated this time. "Rescue, we're seeing a tracking signal." A pause. "No vitals, but the tracking is clear. Sending coordinates."

Mako reached up and pulled Chuck down as the pilots nudged them forward. Probably a good thing, because his knees were suddenly so weak he probably would have fallen out of the goddamn chopper. He didn't even protest when she grabbed his hand in both of hers and squeezed hard. In fact, he squeezed back, speechless.

"I got color, dead ahead."

Chuck's heart lurched.

"Parachute. No pilot in sight. Advise?"

Fuck that. Jerking his hand out of Mako's grip, he shoved up to stand on the chopper's rail, yanked off his helmet, then dove off, freefalling dizzily until the water finally swallowed him. It was dark, the spreading parachute blocking out the sun from overhead, but Chuck had no trouble seeing the body dangling from the straps, limp and motionless.

Without really thinking about it, he yanked off the broken helmet and popped the parachute harness release. Then, he turned the body to face away, wrapped his arms around the useless fucking fuckwit, and kicked toward the surface. Raleigh was dead weight in his arms, but fuck that.

As soon as they broke through into the blowing thunder of the hovering chopper, he lifted two fingers to Raleigh's throat and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Fuck. He wrapped the safety line around them both and held on tight as Mako reeled them in.

Raleigh slumped forward, water trickling from his mouth. Good. Well, not good, but if the fucker had lived long enough to drown, pumping the water out was the first goddamn step. So thinking, he shifted his grip to squeeze the bastard in a half-ass Heimlich maneuver.

More water glurped out. Better.

Still no pulse.

Mako and one of the pilots wrestled them up onto the Apache's floor, and Chuck didn't even bother unhooking the safety line before rolling the fucker onto his back and starting chest compressions.

"Come on, Raleigh. Breathe. _Breathe_."

Mako knelt at the bastard's head, tilted it back to clear the airway, and, every five compressions, gave him a breath.

"Goddammit, Raleigh, you can't do this to me."

Another breath. "No pulse."

"Raleigh! Don't you fucking dare!"

Another breath. "No pulse."

On the third compression of this series, that big, gorgeous body gave a flopping lurch, and water bubbled up in Raleigh's mouth. Hands shaking, Chuck rolled him to his side, and more water vomited out onto the chopper floor.

Raleigh sucked in a huge, tearing gasp. Choked it out with another spray of water. Sucked in another. Another.

"Ray? Come on, Ray...."

The poor bastard dry-heaved, then groaned. Chuck wanted to help somehow -- hug him, whack him on the back, _something_ \-- but he was a little afraid to touch him yet.

"Ray, talk to me."

Despite the deafening thump-thump-thump of the chopper blades just overhead, inside the chopper, the gathered few could have heard a pin drop.

"Chuck...?"

His own breath turned to a knife in his chest. "Yeah, Ray. That's good. Talk to me, yeah?"

The dumbass coughed, low and wracking down in his chest, then slumped again. "My middle name isn't 'Fucking'."

It took a second, and then the almost sickening relief poured out of him in a stupid, braying laugh. He lowered his forehead to the fucking septic's arm -- right below where he'd taken a bullet for Chuck about a lifetime ago -- simultaneously wanting to both wrap the asshole in a bearhug and throw him right back out of the chopper. Mako had no such reservations and leaned down to hug fiercely around the bloke's neck and kiss his cheek.

And when a gloved hand dug itself into Chuck's hair and tugged, he knew everything would be okay.

Fucking _finally_.


	39. EPILOGUE

"Dammit, Chuck, you said this was a nude beach!"

Grinning up at the sun with his hands stacked behind his head, Chuck shrugged. "It is today, mate."

"Then why is everyone staring? And wearing swimsuits?"

Sighing, he shifted to adjust his sunglasses down and peer over them at the blushing seppo standing over him, gloriously naked and impossibly gorgeous. "We saved the world, Ray. I think we get a free pass on walking about in the buff whenever we want."

"Unbelievable. Gimme a towel so I'm not indecent."

Restacking his hands, he smirked up at the sky. "I'm laying on it. What, you want me to get sand in my ass? You're the one who'll complain about it chafing your dick later, mate."

Raleigh's expression was priceless. Pure, helpless mortification. Then, blue eyes narrowed and he propped his hands on his hips. "Better watch it, Chuck. Your freckles are connecting."

His smirk deepened. "You really oughtta be more careful with the SPF, precious. Your cheeks are all pink."

"I put on sunscreen like an hour ago."

Waggling his eyebrows, he bared his teeth in a truly shit-eating grin. "Not those cheeks."

That did it. The silly galah cracked up, and all was forgiven as he nudged Chuck's legs aside to sit on the edge of the towel.

"You are some kind of asshole, Hansen."

Shifting, he hefted one leg up and over the pretty bastard's head to drape it over his lap, conveniently covering everything that shouldn't be seen in public. He'd laid a hand towel over his own lap earlier, but only because he had no intention of sunburning his junk.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

He held his breath. Neither of them had really talked about this thing between them. They both knew it wasn't just sex, but....

Thankfully, Raleigh neither confirmed or denied, just grinned softly and laid a heavy hand on Chuck's calf. "So what happens next? Now that you managed to trick me into streaking for a few dozen unsuspecting beachgoers, that is."

He smirked. "I'm thinking... paint job."

The seppo blinked, completely lost.

Shaking his head, Chuck nudged his knee against the whacker's chest. "Your house, dumbass. It needs a goddamn paint job."

That smile. God, the things he'd do for that smile. Even with the sun glaring overhead, it lit up the whole fucking world.

"Might need a new front door, too. Since _someone_ kicked it in."

"And a vacuum cleaner. Seriously, Ray. Do you have mutant spiders? Because it looks like you have mutant spiders."

Still smiling, the bastard leaned back on his hands and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Chuck drooled a little. He wasn't ashamed of it.

"Lucky for me, your dad managed to negotiate five years' worth of back pay for me up front, so I can swing a new roof, too."

They nattered on, bickering fondly, but it was all just noise. What they were really saying was that, with Yancy awake and talking and moved back at the black market hospital for longterm care (on the PPDC's dime, of course), Chuck would never ask Raleigh to live anywhere but Alaska and that _of course_ he'd be there with him. He wouldn't trade waking up next to this pretty bastard for all the sun-drenched beaches in the world.

They were in it together now. They'd won a chance at a future, and it was by God time to reach out and take it.

And as he contemplated all the naughty things he planned to do that gorgeous body later, Chuck Hansen thought this might just be his best day ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody made it this far, bless you. Sorry for the long ride and I hope it wasn't too bumpy for you. Thank you so much for soldiering through!


End file.
